


Patience

by Naicele



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Vague mentions of off-screen rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:10:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7487496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naicele/pseuds/Naicele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio realises that perhaps revenge is not enough for a person to live on, but he has forgotten how to want anything else. A story about love, lust, vengeance and responsibilities, and the complications of balancing these.<br/>In other words, sex, angst and bad decisions. Also gratuitous use of Italian phrases =)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monteriggioni 1476- Venezia 1481

**Author's Note:**

> It is probably useful to know that like the game, the story sometimes jumps a few years in time. Also, I wrote this a few years back but I am slowly migrating all my things over to AO3.

_Villa Auditore, Monteriggioni_ _Anno 1476_

Coarse gravel dug into his back, sharp pebbles forming pinpricks of pain all across his shoulder blades. The rest of his body ached from exhaustion, a dull throbbing inside his limbs and he didn’t think he had ever been this tired before. He wanted to sleep for a week or a month and then wake up by someone telling him that this had all been a bad dream. That the turn his life had taken this last year had all been a fever induced hallucination. He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again and squinted up at the sky; glaring midday sun hurting his eyes and he knew that it was all still very real.

“Patience Ezio, it is the most important of all the things I have to teach you. You may think it is the sharpness of your blade or the strength in your arm which makes you an assassino.” Here his uncle paused, sharp eyes fixating Ezio’s sullen glare, trying with sheer power of will to make his young relative listen, he shook his head, “Merde novizio, listen to me, this is not only the most important lesson but also the one you refuse, time upon time, to learn.” The older man sank back down on his heels, the sharp edge of his blade still pointing at Ezio’s throat; never wavering once.

“Patience! It is what will make you into a great assassin.” Mario Auditore swept the arm not holding the sword in a wide arc, as if to encompass not only the Villa Auditore and its grounds but all and everything. His voice sank to almost a whisper as he continued, “Patience Ezio, is what will keep you alive.”

ooo

_Venezia, Anno 1481_

Ezio pressed his back against the rough stone, moulding his spine to the uneven surface, his white cape blending seamlessly with the whitewashed walls of the small palazzo. After the heat of the day the cold seeping into his flesh from the cool stone was a blessing. The heels of his feet were resting comfortably on a broad ornate windowsill halfway up the inner wall.

From his vantage point he could see the entire courtyard, roses and bushes so colourful during the day now grey, bathing in silvery moonlight. He looked carefully down as a guard made a slow circuit of the inner walls, unfastened chain mail tinkling with ever step.

“Stupido,” he whispered quietly to himself. He made no attempt to move but let the guard walk his turn and disappear into the lit guard house, laughter escaping briefly before the door closed behind him.

Ezio kept his position, the guard was not his target and if he could avoid it he rather let him be. The guards he had seen so far were relaxed, careless, they did not expect an attack and if they did it was from the outside, an open assault on the gates. The rich and powerful in Venice conspired amongst themselves as much as in any of the other city republics in Italy and armed conflicts was not unusual; although political disgrace was the customary weapon of choice. Ezio was something different, more expensive perhaps but also much more dangerous.

He noted the time of the guard’s round with the position of the moon, same hour every night. He should be glad; it would make his work easier. He kept still in his shadowed corner and continued to wait.

His target, Severo Esposito, was a wealthy merchant who traded in silks and spices. He had risen from nothing to great power in the last couple of years and was known for his harsh methods for dealing with traders and captains under his pay. He was not a good man, using unscrupulous and ruthless tactics to become rich, but on the other hand he was no worse than most of the other merchants in Venezia. Normally, he was not a man worthy of Ezio’s time but somebody wanted him dead; dead enough to have paid a very hefty sum to Ezio, which meant they wanted him deader than most.

Ezio waited as a second guard walked a round of the courtyard; the watch walked fast and was clearly more interested in going back to his wine and the game of dice going on inside. He never looked up.

This was the third night Ezio stalked the palazzo in hope of spotting his prey, he had paid a former maid of the household a large enough sum that she should have been speaking the truth that the signore of the house tended to sleep light and take nightly walks in his own courtyard. Other ways had proved fruitless as the man surrounded himself with a heavy guard outside his home and constantly travelled surrounded by them.

Ezio slowly flexed his fingers inside his gloves and then moved on to his wrists, making sure that when the waiting was over he would be ready. He loathed this part of the calling; he had never been built for waiting, no matter how much his uncle had tried to instil a sense of patience in him. The rest of the creed of the assassin’s order he had taken to as a shark takes to water; but being still held little appeal to him. He wanted to kill the man and be done with this.

Becoming an assassino had never been how he had planned to spend his life, but as it turned out life had other plans for him. He had tried running, he had tried hiding, he had even tried fighting it but in the end when Mario had asked he had said yes. Yes, and chosen a pat set forward by his father and his father’s father before him; he had no idea how far back the creed went only that when it called the Auditore answered.

He shifted his weight and muttered an oat under his breath; he should not have taken this contract.  Being an assassin might not have been his first choice in life but at the time it had been the only line of action he could see before him, the lust for vengeance had burned too strong in him, like flames in his blood and ash in his heart. In the years since he embarked on this path his road had been littered with corpses of friends as well as foes and over the years the flames inside him had died down to embers, still smouldering and never dying but burning slower and more controlled.

He shook his head, impatience flaring in him like an itch he couldn’t scratch and at times like this his skin felt a size to small and filled with ants. All he wanted was to be done here and turn his back on this maledizione place and its master. There were other things he must do, other men that needed killing more than this one, but money, he had discovered, was essential if you wanted anything done.

Suddenly a movement in the corner of his eyes caught his attention and frustration and anger was instantly blown away, replaced by intent concentration. Ezio leaned carefully out on the window sill, keeping his weight on his heels and one hand still connected to the stone wall, assassin blade ready to be drawn in his other. He saw a flare of expensive fabric among the back of the colonnades and he slid smoothly away from the wall, feet silently connecting with the mosaic floor beneath him.

Ezio carefully kept the moving form in focus, never letting it out of his sight while making sure to obscure the line of sight for his victim. His entire being was focused on the present, here and now, the earlier tendrils of regrets and impatience pushed far away. The time for patience was over and now he needed the intent of his mind, the sharpness of his eyes, and the determination of his soul. He was always at his best when he was moving; then no dark thoughts could keep up with him. One step after the other he approached his target, moving silently among the pillars as he made sure the guard’s room was still out of sight as he glided amidst the shadows.

He saw the signore, a fat middle aged man marked by wealth and power standing with his hands clutching a balustrade looking out over the patio.

“Dio era con me,” Ezio whispered under his breath as he took the final leap, feet pushing forcefully off from the ground and blade brandished in mid air.

The merchant had no opportunity to shout or react, all he had time for was a brief flare of shock in his eyes as Ezio’s strong hand folded over his mouth and his blade cleanly sliced his troat open from ear to ear. He felt more than saw the warm blood silently flow down the man’s chest, a black river of death, slender tendril of steam rising gently in the cool night air.

Afterwards, Ezio slowly put him down on the white marble tiles and wiped his blade on the man’s night gown before sliding it back in its sheath. He looked down at the dead and wondered absently what he had done to deserve such enemies before closing his eyelids and saying the words the creed demanded, “Che la morte ti dia la pace che cercavi. Requiescat in Pace.”

He was out over the walls before he could hear the alarm being raised behind him and long gone over the roofs of the sleeping city before anyone tought to look up.

ooo

It was an hour or two after midnight and Ezio was slowly but surely becoming drunk. Escaping from the palazzo had been easy and he was now in a different part of Venezia. He was occupying a table in the darkest corner he had been able to find in a taverna, although he did not think his face would be recognised in a place like this. He clutched a stained mug in his right hand and the scowl on his face made certain the other patrons thought twice before sitting down to share his table.

The taverna was dimly lit and the air full of smoke from the multitude of wax candles casting flickering shadows across the beams in the low ceiling. Ezio was on his fourth cup of wine, it was tart and watered but cheep and so he drank it nonetheless. The place, known for its sign of a resting dock worker, was not for the high-born of Venice but rather inhabited by the part of the city's population which only emerged after dark and preferred to pursue their living in hidden alleyways far away from the watchful gaze of the city guards.

At the other tables he could make out cutpurses and sell-swords mingling with poor young apprentices and whores too old to sell their goods in better lighting. A wrong word here would undoubtedly get you killed, and not in an open fight but with a knife in your back when you went outside for a piss. In short, the place was as dark and despicable as Ezio's mood; it suited him right now.

The pleasure of success seemed nowhere to be found tonight, usually after a killing he felt relieved that he was one step closer to avenging his family. Tonight, no such feeling would fill him and his mind was occupied with bitter thoughts of regret and things that could not be. Waiting had that effect on him and now he seemed unable to shake it off.

He should be heading back to his home in Monteriggioni but he was avoiding it and he knew it, which only soured his mood further. If it was something he did not like it was dealing with the fact that he might be a coward, he preferred his enemies to be visible and tangible. Shadows and memories could not be killed and stayed with you even if you wanted them gone and for Ezio they seemed like uninvited guest as they clung to the very stones of the Villa Auditore.

Tonight was not a good night he concluded and he did not want to tempt fate further by starting the return voyage to see the tattered remains of his family. When he was in a mood like this he always loathed going back and avoided it as much as he could; taking up resident in empty building or among friends in the cities he visited. At home lay only his sisters accusing eyes for keeping her out in the countryside, away from her friends and potential lovers in Firenze. And then there was his mother.

He waved at the barmaid to bring him another mug of wine as he drank the remains of the one in his hand. He sighed, Claudia had adapted to her new life in her own way, keeping the books of the Villa gave her a purpose and he was sure that as soon as he turned his back she was spending all her time with the merchant daughters of the area. Laughing and residing over them as she held court in their small town.

Maria, on the other hand, his mother, was another story. Maria with her dead eyes and mouth which did not smiled and never spoke a word, only prayed silently. He almost downed the new mug of wine as soon as the maid put it down in front of him, the sour liquid making his eyes tear at the corners and his throat ache; everything to escape the image of his own mother so broken down by grief from the killings of his father and brothers that she was not fully part of this world any more.

The overpowering sorrow which Ezio had transformed into a hard core of anger and hate Maria had not been able to bear. He had long since killed the guards who had come for his father and brothers and who would have taken him as well had he been at home that day, he had thought that killing them would somehow make his mother forget what they had done to her as she tried to protect her sons and husband. Make her forget their hands and leering mouths and the shame and pain. He scowled at himself, he had been so naive, so young, killing someone did not undo what they had done. Killing someone never turned back time, if there was anything he had learned over the last couple of years it was that murdering a man only lead you to two more that desperately needed killing.

His revenge would never end, never be done, for every dead man the shadows of more fell over his hands. He had made his peace with this, he had chosen his own path and now he had to walk it. Regret would get him nowhere and it was years ago he had stopped wondering if he could have helped his mother in those early months had he not been so consumed by vengeance.

"Brutta notte," he said almost conversationally to himself. It was a full moon tonight and he always thought of these nights, so much brighter than others, as bad nights. Darkness was his friend after all and too much light made his work hard and his enemies more alert. Bad thoughts for a bad night he reflected, a cruel smirk settling on his face. Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow he would go home. Tonight on the other hand he would try to forget all these things.

He needed a distraction, a warm willing body taking his mind of things. He looked around but saw nothing in the scum around him, not here that was for sure. He suddenly smiled into his cup, swirling the red liquid before finishing it. He rose and threw a handful of coins on the rough wooden table as he gathered his things and exited. After all he knew exactly where to go.

ooo

Leonardo Da Vinci took a step back from the canvas stretched out on its wooden frame in front of him. He studied it intently, first looking straight at it then walking to the right and then the left observing it from every angle. He narrowed his eyes, squinting at the figure in front of him; there was still something wrong he thought.

The canvas stood in the middle of his studio and he had lit every candle in the room to give himself sufficient light to work by. The painting, a portrait commissioned by a Baronessa was even so troubling him, there was something in the fall of a shadow on the woman’s left cheek that just wouldn’t turn out the way it should. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing his beret absently off his head as his paint stained fingers stuck in a tangle of dark blond hair.

The portrait should have been delivered weeks ago but Leonardo could not part with it until he felt that it was truly finished, that he had managed to capture the true beauty of reality. It was his curse and his blessing, this almost devout searching for the perfect line; the sublime.

“Bene, if I change the mouth again?” he asked out loud even though there was no one to hear him, he had sent his servant home at sunset and had worked alone in the hours since, unable to leave the painting. He studied the face in front of him again, a serene woman clad in black, before throwing his paintbrush away in frustration. He would have to repaint it tomorrow in sunlight and out of memory, the Baronessa refused to sit for him any more.

Immediately regretting his act he picked up the brush, examining it for any damage before moving to clean it before the thick oil paint ruined it. It was not its fault; it was his own inability to settle for something less than perfection. After salvaging the paint he had mixed earlier he blew out the candles one by one, smelling the sulphur in the air as it mixed with the smell of fresh paint. He opened a window to air the room and allowed himself a moment to look at the still city, deserted at this time of night, a strange peaceful calm resting over the streets which always reminded him of Firenze.

He still missed it, with its beautiful buildings, familiar faces, and exotic smells. Venezia always reeked of dead fish and mud, but when the moon was out and darkness obscured the edges he could almost believe himself to be back. He rested his head on the frame of the window and closed his eyes, letting the cool air calm him and take his mind of the devious portrait. Firenze had been more tranquil, easier days when all he had thought of was painting and inventing and people seemed petty but generally good. It had been before that fateful day when the majority of the Auditore family had been hung on the plaza.

It all came back to that day. To those three bodies, so different in size, dangling three feet above the ground, faces purple and contorted, breeches stained in the moment of death. After that day the world as Leonardo knew it had changed, grown more complicated and infinitely more dangerous. In a way he thought, it was not Firenze he missed as much as his own innocence.

Now he was neck deep in a battle that had been ongoing for longer than he would dare guess, life seemed so precious and fragile in the wake of all those centuries of destruction. There were times when danger had meant something else for him and death had been something remote; a time when art and beauty had taken up all his time.

Across the city he heard a bell ring frantically in the night, its piercing, high note penetrating the silence. The bell told of danger afoot. He shook his head and closed the window, baring the latticed wooden screens from the inside, you could never be too careful. Instead of going to bed as he ought he leaned back on the window and hoped that it was not Ezio who was back in Venezia. The ringing of bells in the night always made him think of his friend.

Ezio had disappeared, as was his want, several months before and Leonardo had not heard from him since, although that was not something out of the ordinary, months or sometimes years passed when he heard nothing from the assassin. Then one day, out of the blue the smiling Auditore son would be knocking on his door asking for his help.

Hearing bells or thinking of Firenze always led him to Ezio, his oldest friend. For years he had been a part of the assassin’s life, someone Ezio could always rely on to be there. In a way he was one of the few links back to Firenze which Leonardo supposed was the main reason they were still close friends.  Although, there had been a time when he had whished for more than friendship and he had thought he might have it.

As he made his way towards the back where his bedroom was located his mind drifted to the time before all this started, before Ezio’s family had been hunted and killed and Leonardo had become irrevocably involved in the struggles of the assassino order. There was a hint of nostalgia over the memory, worn and comfortable as it was.

They had been on their way to real friendship in those early days, Ezio’s mother a valued customer of his, supporting his art and the young man who had appeared one sunny day at Leonardo’s door had been a different man. Rash, impatient and full of energy, with a constant smile on his lips. Leonardo had fallen head over heels for that smile and the dark eyes and all that youthful enthusiasm for life. Ezio had been all the things Leonardo had been trying to catch with his paintings, like a bird in mid-flight.

He had never imagining doing anything about his interest or intended to come too close, just admiring the beauty on a safe distance. It had turned out the Audiotore had other plans, soon dragging Leonardo to him with promises of friendship; and he had come, enchanted against his will and a dull pain in his chest for things that couldn’t be.

Then there had been that night, both of them drunk and out of their minds, an evening filled with wine and laughter ending in a bar brawl and guards being called for. They had run from it in the end, leaving the crowd Ezio was always surrounded by behind. They hadn’t stopped until they were inside Leonardo’s workshop, out of breath and high on mirth. Leonardo had leaned back against the wall, one hand still holding onto Ezio’s upper arm to keep them both from tumbling over.

He had been about to say something about their luck when his friend had stumbled against him, half fallen against the wall. Leonardo braced him and Ezio had laughed roughly into his neck as he pressed up against him and the thing Leonardo had been about to say died in his throat. His head spun in a mix of heat and terror and all he could think of was Ezio’s firm body against his and the fact that if he turned his head just so he could have kissed him.

He must have shown something on his face because Ezio grew still, a serious expression settling over his eyes which suddenly seemed almost impossibly dark and Leonardo feared he had finally given himself away and that his friend would pull back in disgust.

Instead the man turned and faced him wholly, putting his hands on Leonardo shoulders. Leonardo could do nothing except watch, wide eyed and shocked as Ezio nervously licked his lips before pressing him into the wall, haste more than passion guiding him, his elbow pressing almost painfully into Leonardo’s chest as he held him still.

Over the years he had dreamed every detail of that encounter so many times he was not sure what had actually happened anymore. In his mind, Ezio’s breath was hot as fire on his throat, lips and teeth scalding him. He gasped when Ezio bit down hard on his collarbone and he went instantly hard as the man licked at the bruise. His mind spun from wine and he felt like he couldn’t breath as a shaking hand went to his belt buckle. In reality it had probably been too fast and too rough but in his mind this was as far as he normally managed to get, the memory lost in hazy warmth and sensation of strong hands on him.

Leonardo had woken up happy and full of hope, there had been something there in Ezio’s eyes, something suggesting more to come, so he had decided to bide his time; after all he had been in no hurry.

Little had he known that just days after would be the day of the conspiracy against the Auditore to reach full bloom ending in Ezio having to flee Firenze with his sister and mother. It would be years until he saw Ezio again, an older and more burdened man than the youth Leonardo had remembered.

His heart had bleed for that man and he had silently sworn to do everything in his power to ease his burden, to be his friend. So he had never asked for anything in return except the friendship Ezio so readily offered.

ooo

Leonardo couldn’t sleep. It was a general ailment of his so he really paid it no heed, ever since coming to Venezia sleep had been hard to come by. Often he slept only an hour or two before rising to work on his projects again; it had been like this for so long he had forgotten that it had once been otherwise.

Tonight was an especially bad night though; the full moon shone in through the blinds on the windows and lit the room with an eerie light, making his bedchamber to bright and whichever way he turned it seemed to find its way in under his eyelids. He tossed yet again, trying to find a comfortable position. If only he had been able to work in the dark then he could have worked through the nights as well, but fading light made it impossible. Good lighting he thought, ought to be the right of every artist.

He let his mind turn to the latest machine he was building, drawing up plans in his head usually made him fall into some semblance of sleep. Tonight was no exception and even if it was uneasy he fell into a light slumber, thinking of the weight of air and resistance of wind.

He woke groggily, in what could not have been more than an hour later, a weak light still shone in the room telling him the moon was still up. He didn’t move, trying to assert who he was and what had woken him when a hand, not his own, carefully slide down his chest to land on his stomach, turning him instantly alert.

His mind, always working too fast for the rest of the world to keep up, rapidly turned to its highest gear. He could smell cheap wine in the air and the hand now lying flat on his stomach, as if waiting permission, was rough. He knew that, combined with the fact that even though he slept light he had not woken as the man entered told him it could be only Ezio. For a moment he wondered if he had finally fallen asleep deep enough to dream, but the sensation of bed linen against his body and the sound of quiet breathing beside him convinced him this was indeed real. Ezio Auditore, the bane of his sleep must be back in Venezia.

Leonardo didn’t dare open his eyes to look; he wasn’t sure if it was to avoid waking up if this turned out to be a dream after all or if it was to keep the man beside him from leaving. Like a dear, he thought, no sudden movement or you might scare it away. He didn’t know what to do though, Ezio in his bed was not something he had prepared for, and he had no carefully made plans or words which would suit. He shifted slightly instead, allowing his shirt so slide up his body, opening up, inviting the man in.

The wordless invite seemed sufficient and he heard a small intake of breath beside him as he stretched. There could be no doubt that he was awake now, the involuntary hitch in his throat as calloused fingers dragged across his chest. He stretched out, mouth falling open and allowed Ezio’s hand free access to his body.

He wondered wistfully why now? After all these years, but then maybe Ezio had finally come to fulfil that old promise. His body quivered as the assassin’s hand ran freely over his torso and down his side, callused fingers drawing lines of heat through the fabric of his shirt. He stretched his hands up over his head and felt Ezio push his shirt up under his arms, it was all he could do to keep in a moan as the man tugged at the cords of his pants, pulling them down on his hips.

Suddenly the hand withdrew and Leonardo felt it as an intense pain at the loss of physical contact. He was about to open his eyes and pull the other man to him, tired of waiting, there was no way he would sit by passively now, when a tentative fingertip lightly brushed his hipbone before withdrawing. He froze immediately and felt a cold tendril of dread encircle his heart.  He wanted to swear, to tear his hair out and curse the universe; he had forgotten the mark left there by a young apprentice a few nights before.

Ever since setting up shop in Venezia Leonardo had been assisted by a constantly changing horde of young men trying to learn from him, absorb his genius in hopes of eventually becoming maestros themselves. While he had been flustered at start by his seemingly growing fame he had gotten used to the younglings when he had realized that sending them away often angered a patron or maecenas of his.

And sometimes these young men stayed late, hoping to gain his favour. And on occasions they wanted more than learning how to paint proportions. Giotto was the latest of them, a promising young artist and he had, in comparison to most of the young monello, actual potential so Leonardo let him stay long after he sent the rest of the crowd home. Giotto listened when he talked about art and was always fascinated by his passionate speeches about new inventions and things never seen before.

That night had been one such night and Leonardo hadn’t notices when the young man had come up close behind him when they had finally been alone in the chapel Leonardo had been commissioned to paint.  Leonardo had protested at first, he always did, he was too old for them or they too young. But Giotto had only smiled and whispered, “Essere maestro tranquillo,” and as he had fallen down on his knees, golden curls bobbing around his face Leonardo had faltered and then the young man had pulled his clothing down, licked and sucked that bruise on his skin and all further protest had died in his throat.

In his bed Leonardo breathed in a deeply and then he held his breath, he was glad it was dark enough that the furious blush on his face wasn’t visible. He has no idea how Ezio would take it, where the mark came from was too obvious. The moment when he could have said something clever or funny to brush it away or disperse the tension in the air came and went and Leonardo couldn’t find the right words, instead he prayed silently to whatever deity that would listen that the assassin would understand. Soon stars flickered on the inside of his eyelids, white pinpricks on a black canvas. And nothing happened.

ooo

Ezio was walking along the deserted streets of Venezia, brisk, determined steps only marred slightly by the barest unsteadiness from drink. The city was quiet as respectable citizens had made their way into the comforts of their homes; the only ones still out were the guards and people with less than honest intent.

Ezio worried about neither guards nor thieves or murderers, guards he could outrun or outclimb even in this state and it had been years ago since anyone had tried to rob him. The low living denizens of the Italian city states who had managed to survive on the streets long enough to be a threat knew danger when they saw it and he was probably, without exaggeration, the most dangerous man in this part of the world.

He could see lights from behind closed windows, sometimes he heard laughter or talk drift out into the night and once he spotted a small group of thieves quietly observing him from a dark alley. He nodded in their direction as he passed and he could feel their curious eyes on his back long after he had walked past. He had not told Antonio, leader of the thieves that he was back; now he was sure the man would know before Ezio had reached his destination.

He rounded the next corner and took a sharp left, darting silently down a narrow passage and leaped over a small wall into a walled garden on the other side. His feet landed in soft grass and the fragrance of broken strands reached his nose, for a second displacing the smells of Venezia. He scaled the single story building on the other side, fingers gripping small outcrops and ledges and continued his walking on a new street, in a new direction. He turned twice more on his way, taking illogical shortcuts and turns.

He did not mind the thieves knowing he was back or he would not have allowed them to spot him, he counted on them spreading the word so that his allies would know he was still alive. But for reasons he couldn’t place he would prefer it if they did not know where he was heading tonight.

As he was nearing his goal he could feel his pulse speed up and a flutter in his stomach. It was not like him, he had long since stopped feeling fear, it was an emotion which got in the way of his work. An assassino was always calm, unperturbed and professional; never angry or afraid. His uncle had branded these lessons into his bones and soul and they were a part of him; never to be forgotten. Yet now he felt something like fear, an uneasiness which made him stop in his track as the familiar building came into view.

It looked just the same as it had when he had been here last, its brown brick façade plain but well tended to. He leaned back against a wall and studied the building, he was certain the unremarkable casa still belonged to Leonardo. Now that he could see it his fears subsided and an involuntary smile crept up on him; he had missed his friend. In many ways Leonardo was his only link back to who he had been, to the man underneath the assassin hood. The artist was one of the few, excepting his sister and his mother who did not speak, who had known him before.

Leonardo was also the only one he could talk about things from his past to, he had known his mother and father and brothers at least a little and he had known Ezio before he became a killer. He had friends, sure, but in their own way they all wanted something from him and most often that something was for him to kill again. He did not mind, he wanted things from them and he respected and even loved them as they did him but it was not the same he had discovered over the years.

Leonardo never asked for anything and he was always there for him, even though Ezio was sure that he deeply and sincerely disapproved of killing in whatever form. When it came to him the artist put his own morals on hold and Ezio had only lately understood how much that had meant, and still did, for him. To have a link back, a person who believed in him, someone to remind himself that he had once been something else, someone else. God should know he needed that, living according to the creed was hard and many were the times Ezio had wanted to make an exception, to stray. The thought of Leonardo’s faith in him had always been the thing that had given him the strength to keep to the narrow path of his order.

Ezio supposed that he had asked a lot from him these years and seldom given anything back. Leonardo’s friendship had always been unconditional, given without payment and never with resent or remorse. Even though Ezio had been sure the man had once wanted more from him than his friendship. He had been certain in fact, and maybe, just maybe, Ezio had wanted something as well. There had never been time to see and things of greater importance had taken over Ezio’s life, and that would never change. The question which kept Ezio leaning back against the wall, hesitating and perhaps even nervous was if the other man still wanted more?

ooo

Ezio gently pried the shutters open; he avoided the intricate lock and released his hold on the windowsill as he slid inside. He stopped for a second, surveying the ordered chaos where the maestro worked. There were half finished pieces everywhere, unformed shapes of humans caught in a stage between living and death. A detailed eye, perfectly formed and full of life, residing above the barest outline of a nose unfinished and surreal. They always unnerved him, and now even more so in the dark, these figures stuck on the canvases unfinished, not made to live wholly, they made him think of souls suffering in limbo.

He made his way across the room, watchful not to touch anything or make any noise. The smells calmed him, paint, turpentine, and linseed oil. He felt safe here, always had and so he dropped his armour and weapons in a pile. Placing them where they would be easy to access should he need them. Soon he opened the door to the room in the back and slipped inside, closing it carefully behind him.

His eyes immediately found him, pale skin of a hand hanging over the edge of the bed, hair ruffled by sleep and mouth slack. Leonardo looked far from peaceful in his sleep, a haunted cast to his closed eyes and a slight twitch in his fingers, as if he was painting even in his dreams. He looked older and more tired than Ezio remembered him and a pang of remorse hit him that maybe he was one of the things his friend worried about.

He was still so beautiful, Ezio thought and his heart clenched. He moved to the bed, sitting gently on the edge, the man mumbled something under his breath but he couldn’t make it out. Leonardo had pushed the covers away in his sleep and his entire languid form was stretched out before Ezio. He hesitated unexpectedly again, feeling suddenly and inexplicably shy, then he stretched out a hand and tentatively placed it on the frame before him.

Che Bello, he thought again and wondered if he should say something to wake him up, even though he feared that the man would push him away. He stayed like he was, hand splayed on the sleeping man’s chest feeling the warmth seep into his palm.

After a while he slid his hand down to Leonardo’s stomach and he felt the instant the man woke up, a small shudder travelling across his body and Ezio felt himself flush and heat at the sight. He stilled, not daring to move and wetted his suddenly dry lips.

He waited a moment and then another, certain the man was awake, yet he didn’t move. Ezio wondered what to make of that and if he should say something. Then Leonardo stretched slightly, turning and opening up his body to him, the invitation was unmistakable. He slid his hand under Leonardo’s shirt, curling his fingers across his chest, feeling the smooth skin and soft pale hair under his fingertips. He could feel himself reacting, blood pooling and mind fogged over by lust. He pushed the shirt up under Leonardo’s arms exploring his chest before moving lower. His breathing was laboured now, every breath heavy in his chest and he pulled at the string holding the leg cloth in place, pushing them down exposing a thin strip of hair and marked hipbones.

He suddenly froze as he took in the purple bruise crowning the hip, round and new and obvious. Marked, he thought, spoken for. He pulled his hand away like he had been burned, mind whirling and something very much like pain filling his chest. For some reason the fact that Leonardo might have a lover had never occurred to him. That he might turn him down because who he was and what he did, for certain. But the fact that there might be someone else was a new thought, and for some reason it hurt. Did Leonardo even know it was him? Or did he believe him to be someone else?

The moment dragged out and he was about to leave when Leonardo spoke,

“Ezio,” was all he said, voice quiet and strangely hoarse and something inside Ezio broke free. He leaned down and swiped his tongue over the mark, circled it once, not thinking about how it got there or what it meant, just recognising that it was there. Right now, he was the one here and judging from the little moan Leonardo uttered as Ezio’s tongue traced his hipbone, he wanted him. That would have to be enough.

Ezio straightened up and pulled his own shirt up and over his head in one swift motion throwing it on the floor where it landed in a discarded pile. Leonardo stretched his palms up and stroked almost reverently across his chest, his touch feather light and teasing. Ezio could see the whites of his eyes now as he looked up at him, a thin line encircling dark irises. He let him explore his chest and trace all his scars with careful fingers. There was no rush, they had all night.

Leonardo let go of him and wriggled out of his own shirt and stretched for him in the dark, arms pale and lithe and Ezio came without ado. Leonardo’s chest was smooth and almost boyish and so much fairer than his. He looked like a marble statue, cool and eternal yet he seemed to be burning as Ezio touched his skin and he moaned as the artist wound his arms around him and pulled their chests flush.

Ezio pressed his mouth to Leonardo’s neck, hot breath and teeth sliding over skin and he could hear his laboured breath as he licked a wet trail up to his chin. He bit down lightly and trailed little kisses over his face, avoiding Leonardo’s lips as they tried to connect to his. He chuckled as the man grew restless and moved his hands up into his hair and sharply pulled their lips together, the laugh died fast as he found his mouth claimed and plundered with deep kisses.

He licked into Leonardo’s mouth, feeling his tongue under his and he stopped playing around, mind overheated and he succumbed to need; pressing his body down full and grinding his hips down. Leonardo’s hands grew frantic grabbing his waist, hips lifting from the bed to meet him.

Ezio pulled away almost regretfully and looked at the man beneath him, chest heaving and a thin layer of sweat making his skin shine slightly. Ezio cleared his throat and said hoarsely, voice no more than a whisper, “Take you trousers off.”

As Leonardo pulled his breeches off revealing his swollen member crowned by blond hair and Ezio bit his lips at the sight. He was going to take him and leave his old friend with something he would not easily forget.

Ezio placed both hands on Leonardo’s hips, holding him down with a firm grip as he bent forward and licked purposefully up the underside of his dick, the skin velvety smooth under his tongue. Leonardo gasped as Ezio took him unceremoniously in his mouth, cheeks hollowing out around him. Leonardo’s hands were in his hair, urging him on, trying to force him to go faster as he let out little whimpers and moans, but he kept a slow, steady pace and broke away as Leonardo’s breath picked up and he could taste the salt of pre-come in the back of his throat.

The other man wriggled under him, hips lifting aimlessly in search of something to grind against, some friction. He clawed at Ezio’s shoulders and his eyes met Ezio’s, dark and lidded.

“Ezio,” he said again, hoarse and pleading this time.

“Patience,” Ezio whispered up at him, knowing in full how he must look, mouth swollen and used still posed just above Leonardo’s stomach. He pushed Leonardo’s legs up and kissed and bit the inside of his thighs.

He moved gently down drawing wet circles with his tongue growing ever smaller until he swiped over Leonardo’s tight ring of muscle. The hand in his hair pulled painfully now, but he ignored it taking his time licking the man open as Leonardo moaned helplessly above him.

When he deemed him ready he got up to his knees between Leonardo’s legs and poised himself with his hand. He pushed gently at the opening, feeling it slowly but surely give way to his intrusion. He closed his eyes for a second, willing himself not to come just yet. The tip of his member was buried in heat so burning he was afraid it might consume him. When he felt he could continue he carefully pushed forward.. He stopped as he was halfway in and looked up at Leonardo who had grown still as he tried to relax and allow Ezio to enter him.

“Leonardo,” he whispered a roughness in his throat he wished he could blame on the wine. Leonardo met his eyes and nodded slowly, lifting his hips up as his body urged Ezio on. He didn’t wait for more but pushed all the way in, feeling himself surrounded by tight hot flesh and he started to thrust into the other man roughly and uneven, toes curling in the tangled sheets for support.

Leonardo grabbed his hips and met him thrust for thrust, mouth never stilling as he urged him on. Ezio stretched a hand out and cupped his face, fingers tangling in strands of damp hair and with his thumb angled his chin up. He bent down and kissed him roughly, mouths sliding across each others, tongues battling.

Leonardo’s hand went in between them and Ezio mumbled, “Not yet,” into his mouth before releasing Leonardo’s face and taking hold of his hands, pulling them up over his head and holding them there.

They kept the pace, meeting each other and Ezio could feel himself coming close and he heard Leonardo voice again, torn and hoarse as he said, “Please,” over and over and all concentration broke and he let go of Leonardo’s hands and took a firm grip his legs lifting them up and slamming into him harder and faster than before. Leonardo’s voice turned into a high pitched sound as he reached deeper into him, he grabbed his own erection and Ezio watched as he jerked himself off in two rough pulls. Leonardo came splashing out on his stomach, long white strands shooting up across his chest. Ezio watched it all, feeling the orgasm ride the man in waves and then he himself was coming hard as he moaned raggedly and pushed into Leonardo one last time.

ooo

Ezio came to a while later, stiff and sticky and blissfully tired. A deep sated feeling in his limbs and his mind blank. He lay still for a moment enjoying the feeling of the other man under him before sliding off, allowing an arm to stay across Leonardo’s chest as he waited for his own breathing to settle and heart to slow down.

He closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them and lifted his head to look at Leonardo, the man was fast asleep. An expression of content on his face, he looked years younger; all lines of worry smoothed out. Ezio felt an involuntary smile creep up on him and then he thought better of it and allowed it to settle; no one could see him after all. He carefully removed his arm and turned on his back, letting the air dry the sweat from his body. His eyes stared blankly forward and his mind was empty.

He stayed for the rest of the night, not sleeping but at peace. He didn’t care to sleep much nowadays, seldom falling asleep until he was too tired to go on. There was so little time and so many things to do in his life that any form of rest often felt like a waste. Tonight there was nothing to do as he was leaving tomorrow and so he let himself keep still, allowing his limbs to relax and his body to recuperate while his mind enjoyed the simple fact that he was not alone.

ooo

He left just before dawn, rising carefully not to wake Leonardo and dressing in the workshop surrounded by paintings and half assembled wooden frames. He hadn’t slept but it was fine, he could sleep on the journey back to Monteriggioni. He exited through the same window he had entered, fingers gripping the narrow windowsill as he flung himself out and dropped to the ground. He looked around to make sure no one had seen him before he walked out from the narrow lane and joined the early morning crowd. He strolled slowly, so as not to draw attention to himself as he made his way out of the city and towards the harbour.

Lady Fortuna was smiling her benevolent smile at him and he managed to secure passage to Forli with a trader leaving within the hour and before long he stood at the oak rail watching Venezia grow steadily smaller behind them. The ship’s captain was competent and the sailors worked efficiently and without complaints and soon they were out on open water raising all the sails. A fresh breeze hit him, scattering the stink of mud and fish, replacing it with tangy salt and the sweet smell of open sea. A seagull screamed against the sun above him and he shaded his eyes with his hand to look at it. It rode the wind, wings still as it glided in a step upwards curve rising ever higher in the sky.

The sails billowed out, white and pristine above him and the hull creaked as the vessel picked up speed, the prow pushed forwards cleaving the waves leaving lines of foam behind them. He took a deep breath wishing for a second that he had become a trader like he had always believed his father was.

He looked back down at the quickly receding city and his mind turned to Leonardo. He was suddenly glad the crossing across the water would take a couple of days, he needed time to think. Abruptly tired he put his elbows on the wooden railing in front of him and rested his chin on his hands. He knew that if he never mentioned this night then Leonardo wouldn’t either and they could both go on pretending it had never happened. He should, for both of their sake, he thought as he took one last look at the harbours of Venezia. Sober and standing in broad daylight he realized that it had been a selfish and stupid decision fuelled by wine and the full moon.

He straightened and rubbed the palms of his hands into the sockets of his eyes until stars speckled his vision, trying to grind away the outer layer of himself. He was supposed to be the artist’s friend, to protect and watch over him like Leonardo always helped him. So far all he ever did was pushing the other man into harm’s way for helping him; the least he could do was make sure he did not put him in more danger than he had to. To visit Leonardo in the middle of the night was an unnecessary risk. To take more than what was offered was selfish beyond words.

One day, he wouldn’t come back, he had always known it but now he felt it acutely in his entire body. He had always hoped it would be after he had avenged his family but he knew it was more likely his own end would come before that day. He brought death with him and any person close to him was in danger.

His other supporters were fighters, all in their own way, and more than capable of taking care of themselves. They had chosen to become his friends and allies after they knew who and what he was, willingly putting themselves in the peril that entailed. To know him was not safe, he could not allow any harm to come to Leonardo, he would never forgive himself and there was no room for him to worry about Leonardo’s safety any more than he could keep him safe. There was neither time nor space for friends or lovers in his life and he should not ask for too much, greed could kill him yet and leave his family unavenged.

A bitter taste filled his mouth and he realized that no, his mission, his quest came before all else, he owed a debt that could never be repaid but in blood. The templars responsible for the killings of his family had to die and until then his own life would forever be put at risk and everyone around him was either a tool or a liability. He could not allow himself to be distracted. He could not afford to care about anything else.

He walked out of the sun and went below deck to see if he could catch some sleep, as darkness settled around him he couldn’t help feeling like another little part of him crumbled and died.

ooo

Leonardo woke up slowly, disturbed by a ray of sunlight across his face. Outside he could hear the bustling of Venezia, hawkers shouting praise about their wares, town criers proclaiming the latest news on the top of their lungs, sea gulls squawking and below all that the steady susurrus which was the voice of this city he despite everything had come to love.

It took him a while to assert where he was, a languid, calm feeling in his body and mind. He yawned and rubbed a hand across his face, knuckles rubbing at the lines of sleep. It had to be late if the sun had already reached high enough to shine over the rooftops of the buildings surrounding his workshop. His mind was still fussy and he couldn’t remember the last time he had slept this long since moving here.

He turned his head to the side and saw the empty space beside him, bed linen still indented, forming the elongated shape of a human body. He stretched out; fingers feeling gingerly beside him, the bed was cool no lingering heat from another body. The memories of the previous night trickled back and he could feel his cheeks heat at the thought. Ezio must have been gone for a while he concluded. There was a slight pang of disappointment at that; he had hoped he would be here when he woke up. He sighed and mentally berated himself; he should not have expected anything else from the assassino.

He stayed in bed for a while, relishing in the almost unknown luxury of doing nothing. He stretched his limbs and tangled the sheets, as he did familiar smells reached his nose and he smiled sadly; sweat, leather and weapon grease all mixed together with Leonardo’s paints and varnishes.

He wondered if last night would end up as just another memory not to be spoken of or acknowledged. Ezio was not a man easily understood, he harboured so many conflicting feelings that sometimes watching him Leonardo felt like the man was about to break apart before his eyes, wishes puling him like horses in all manners of directions.  And even though, after all this time Ezio’s eyes still held that old promise Leonardo was far from certain that the man would allow it to guide him.

Leonardo turned on his side, suddenly not calm enough to enjoy remaining in bed. He rose briskly, pulling a robe around him; he padded barefoot out into his workshop. For a moment he just stood in the middle of the room and with disgust he realized that he was looking for Ezio, or for any trace of the man. He forced himself to stop and pulled the robe tighter around his waist.

One of the windows was unlocked so he approached it and opened it fully, letting the sunlight flood over him.  He gripped the windowsill and turned to the sky; he took a deep breath and willed his mind to calm. He supposed that there was always the option that Ezio would be back after he had avenged his family; that he would stay in one place after he had his peace. In the meantime Leonardo could make sure he survived by helping him as much as he could. He would bide his time hoping that the day was not too far off and that he himself could wait that long.

He realized that he was not sure at all that the patience he had developed over the years would be enough.


	2. Venezia 1485

_Venezia, Anno 1485_

Almost two years passed before Ezio once again stood before the plain, brick building. It had been long in coming but in the end his visit had been inescapable. Now, as he crossed the last street and laid his eyes upon the anonymous house he was filled with both dread and elation. He longed for Leonardo, it was a steady yearning which had not faltered nor waned in the years which had gone by. He had tried to tell himself that it would pass, that all he needed was time and eventually the sensations which filled him every time he thought of the man would leave him at peace.

It had been of no use in the end. However much he tried to forget no amount of wine and no matter how pretty the women, in the long run nothing had helped. Leonardo had been a constant presence in the back of his mind, a silent companion on his travels and Ezio’s awareness of him had never completely faded. He did not know what the artist had done to him but it appeared as if the damage was permanent.

It was no good, these feelings were a distraction and he could not afford to be distracted. He would rid himself of them if he only knew how. In a way this was the true reason he had avoided Venezia and therefore Leonardo for two whole years.

After all this time he still sometimes woke sweaty and hard in the night from dreams of firm, lean limbs and pale skin. Whenever it happened he couldn’t help himself and all the thoughts about why this desire was destructive seemed inconsequential in contrast to his aching body. In the end he always thrust one hand down his trousers and the other, fisted into a ball to his mouth. It was generally over embarrassingly fast, his hand barely having time to grab his erection and start to pull fast and rough before he came, back arching and fist showed hard into his own mouth to stop any sound of the name he always shouted to be heard.

The sun was licking its last warm rays on his neck lending a golden glow to the air; evening was slowly descending as he waited. He hesitates once more, as he had hesitated all the way here but finally he raised his hand and knocked.

ooo

Leonardo put down the thin sable-hair paintbrush he had been using on the palette. He wiped his hands on the stained apron he was wearing before he hung it up on a nail beside the door, he had learned that most rich patrons preferred it if he looked tidy. How they thought he did his work he had no idea but then he was not of noble birth, his mother being a washer and his father a notary so he assumed that the minds of nobles worked in different ways.

He walked to the door wondering whether it wasn’t time to take another apprentice, his last had disappeared to Roma in search of fame and glory on his own a week past and Leonardo had yet to fill the position, leaving menial tasks like answering the door to himself.

He opened the door and allowed all the sounds of the street to spill inside together with the shadow of an imposing, tall man dressed in white. For a single moment it felt like time stopped, in the background he could see a group of street children throwing a sewn pig bladder ball to each other, frozen in mid-step, their dirty faces perpetually stuck with an expression of bliss and exhilaration. His eyes met dark brown pools and the man pushed his hood down, smiling at him.

“Leonardo,” was all he said smiling crookedly.

“Ezio!”

“Are you going to invite me in?” Ezio said with a smile when Leonardo made no attempt at moving.

Leonardo blushed and quickly stepped back, urging Ezio inside.

He closed the door behind his guest and stepped back into the room proper. Reflexively he ran a hand through his hair, as much habit as nervousness.

“You look well my friend,” Ezio said, pulling off his gloves and tucking them behind his belt.

“I am, my patrono of Venezia have been good to me, I never lack in commissions,” he shrugged; he loved to paint although he would rather paint whatever he wanted and truth be told he finished only half of his commissions. The rest he grew tired of and often forgot.

Ezio made no move to sit down or relax and he had not clasped Leonardo on the shoulder as he walked in, all normal things under regular circumstances. It made Leonardo uncomfortable and utterly aware of the events of their last meeting; the memory felt like a third person in the room so tangible was it. Ezio’s face was unreadable and as always Leonardo wondered what the man hid behind his carefree mask. He wished he could read him, normally he was not so bad at interpreting other people’s feelings but with the assassino it was near impossible.

Ezio cleared his throat and Leonardo realised that he was staring; he looked away so quickly he heard a crack in his neck, a sharp twinge of pain travelling up into his skull.

“Are you hungry by any chance? I was just sitting down to eat,” Leonardo had been doing no such thing, caught up with the finer textures of John the Baptists skin whom he was painting as a child this time, but he was hungry and eating might give them something to do, ease the mood in the room.

“Yes, yes I am friend,” Ezio said and he sounded almost relieved as he seated himself on one of Leonardo’s chairs. Leonardo retreated to the pantry and leaned his head against the cool wall taking deep breaths to compose himself. He stayed like that until he felt better, calmer and then brought out some bread, cheese and fresh fruits, he had no meat in his home and so Ezio would have to make do.

As Leonardo re-entered the studio Ezio had placed a rolled up papyrus roll on the table and was now standing looking out the window, his hair crowned by the light from the setting sun lending the mess of brown a coppery tinge.

“I found another one of those pages for you to translate Leonardo,” Ezio waved at the parchment as he turned away from the window and came to sit down. He said nothing about the lack of meat and ripped off a large piece of bread with his hand. Leonardo sat down and forgot all about the tension in the room and all the things he wished they would talk about as he reverently picked up the scroll, careful not to break the ancient papyrus.

He ate awkwardly with his left hand and studied the coded text at the same time, unable to put a rein on his excitement. These pages which Ezio brought him from time to time contained the history of the assassin order, all written by an old Arabic assassin named Altair. They made for a fascinating read and the words spoke of a time so long ago that the events were forgotten by most people. Reading the words was for Leonardo a way to travel back in time and visit places he could never see with his own eyes and listen to people whose voices he would never hear with his own ears.

He muttered beneath his breath as he worked on the translation, so caught up in his work that he forgot the man sitting across from him. A noise of a chair being pushed back, wooden legs scraping against tiles, startled him, he looked up suddenly and found Ezio looking at him, casually leaned back in his chair, a bemused and perhaps even tender expression on his face. Leonardo put the scroll down, feeling suddenly self-conscious as flashbacks of hot skin under his lips mingled with the memory of shameless begging flooded him.

Ezio’s face grew unreadable once again and he leaned forward across the table, perching on the edge of his chair as he fixed Leonardo with his gaze.

“Leonardo, I,” he stopped there as if trying to find the words and Leonardo waited, hope suddenly surging in him that Ezio would bring up that night, that they would not go on pretending like it hadn’t happen. That nothing ever had happened between them.

Ezio rose and reflexively so did Leonardo; they stood looking at each other from across the table, silence stretching out uncomfortably. Leonardo felt like he was about to start shuffling his feet, like a small boy in trouble for stealing.

“I’ll have the page translated in no time, the cipher is related to one I have worked with previously,” he said just to hear his own voice. When Ezio said nothing he turned and started to clear away the food stuffs on the table. In the corner of his eye he saw Ezio take a step closer and he froze. He did not turn his head but he still saw clearly through the curtain of his own hair how Ezio reached out a hand towards him, not quite touching him but so close Leonardo could imagine he felt the heat from his palm.

“Leonardo there is something which I must ask of you,” Ezio’s voice was soft. Sì per favore, finalmente! Leonardo thought gleefully and he rose and turned towards Ezio’s body, tense with anticipation. He was just about to meet his outstretched hand and pull the man towards him when a knock on the door made Leonardo jump up in the air. His face suddenly heated as he made an apologetic gesture at Ezio and ran over to the door. He swore under his breath at the untimely interruption wondering what lies to spin to get rid of whoever it was as fast as possible.

He pulled the door open with a bit more force than necessary and as he did Antonio fell forward, arm outstretched as if to knock again.  The thief let out a surprised yelp and managed to get his hands up, grabbing Leonardo’s shirt as they both feel down in a pile of arms and legs. Leonardo’s head hit the tiled floor with a painful bash.

He found himself on the floor, lying outstretched with Antonio on top of him, he blinked a couple of times to clear his head.

“Dios mio, my friend are you alright?” Antonio’s worried face was suddenly hovering above him, eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“Si, I believe so,” He raised a hand and felt gingerly at his skull; he could feel no blood and permanent damage so he gathered he was.

Antonio crawled off him; hands still laced in his shirt and pulled him up from the floor with him. Leonardo got to his feet, a bit shaky but mostly fine and took hold of the man’s arm to steady himself. The thief smoothed his clothes for him, fingers straitening his shirt as if apologising for falling all over him.

“I have to say, not the entrance I had planned on,” Antonio said, a mischievous smile on his lips. Leonardo laughed and tried to smooth down his hair with his free hand.

“You are welcome anyway Antonio, as always.”

Antonio was about to reply when a strained cough brought their attention elsewhere.

Ezio was still standing in the back of the room, two furious red spots high up on his cheeks as he looked from Leonardo to Antonio, a tight expression around his mouth.

“Ezio my friend, have you asked him?” It was suddenly Leonardo’s turn to look from Antonio to Ezio, wondering what all this was about. Had Antonio known Ezio would be here? It dawned on him that the thief wasn’t surprised that Ezio was back in Venezia; apparently Leonardo had not been Ezio’ first stop. Leonardo felt a twinge of disappointment at the realization.

“Not yet Antonio,” Ezio still looked riled and he sounded like he and the thief had argued, although Leonardo thought Antonio looked as surprised by Ezio’s curt tone as he was. He stepped away from Antonio and closed the door, once again dimming the sounds from the street. The silence which followed was strained but Leonardo ignored it, he turned his back on the men clearing up the paint he had been occupied with when Ezio had entered. He knew it was petulant in a way but it seemed clear that Ezio’s visit was to request aid for something, not at all to meet Leonardo.

He cursed himself and wondered why he had thought anything else. Ezio’s mission was always foremost in his mind, had he wanted to see Leonardo he could have done so at any time during the last two years.

“I need your help, Leonardo. Does it work?” The last part of the question was aimed at the large winged contraption hanging from the ceiling in the back of Leonardo’s workshop. Leonardo turned around as Ezio spoke.

“What? What are you asking?” Leonardo’s mind worked sluggishly trying to turn from the pathetic pieces of his own personal life to the reason Ezio was here.

 “Does it work, Leonardo?” Ezio said, face turned up to peer at his flying machine, “Can it really fly?”

 It took Leonardo a while to gather himself enough to answer,

“I don't know. It's only a prototype, an idea. It's not ready yet.”

 “Have you tried it?” Ezio asked, turning back to look at him and Leonardo found himself drawn against his will into the discussion at hand. He had always wanted to try the machine but had deemed it to dangerous.

“No. It's too dangerous. To test it, you'd have to leap off a tower. Who would be mad enough to do a thing like that?” As he said it he faltered, whom else but a man obsessed with his mission, sacrificing everything for his revenge.

In Leonardo’s mind two sides drew up their armies, sounded their horns and fought fiercely, on one side his lust for science and discovery and on the other his concern for the man in front of him.

Ezio smiled and it was terrible to behold, all reckless daring and endless confidence, “Leonardo, I think you just found your madman.”

ooo

Sharp wind blew past Ezio, roaring like a beast in his ears and making his eyes water. Every time he turned or rose on a hot current in Leonardo’s flying machine his stomach churned and tried to empty itself. He held on, the knuckles of his hands white as he clasped the wooden bar in front of him. People were not supposed to fly he thought, or they would have been given wings. At the same time he could not help but to marvel at the speed, the feeling of seeing the world from above. Perhaps no man had ever seen the world as he now was; maybe no one had ever flown above the lands of man with wings white and pristine.

He steered towards the Palazzo Ducale, the great white building shining in the night, the river a band of black beside it. Suddenly he heard the sharp noise of wood splitting and quickly glanced up, a crossbow bolt lodged in the frame, he turned back just as another ripped a long gash in the fabric making up the wing. He steered lower and prayed that it would be enough height to take him over the high walls and into the palazzo.

The machine went slower as the damage began to take its toll. The city still streaked past him, buildings small as models beneath him. Soon he thought, the palazzo beginning to dominate his field of vision. The white spires clearly visible in the star light of the night. If there had been time to think he might have promised to stop taking his life for granted if he survived this, but there was no time to think only to act. He was always at his best like this, speed of movement to fast for reflections or regrets to catch up with him.

He steered lower still, swooping just above the roofs of the city, seeing the chimneys poke up and individual tiles of the buildings beneath him. The palazzo was suddenly under him, red roofs mixing with marble stones. He disentangled himself from the machine and jumped, praying that god and luck would be with him. He landed and rolled, the world spinning around him, hoping against hope that he would not pass over the edge.

ooo

Leonardo was walking back and forth in his workshop. He had been pacing for a long while, the sun had settled and it was so dark he almost couldn’t make out the lines in the room but he was too restless to stop and light a candle.  He wrung his hands as he walked, agitation crawling in him. Over and over he went through the calculations in his head. Any mistake by him and Ezio would crash to his death.

The flying machine he had built and the fires Antonio’s men had started all felt so flimsy and weak now that he was alone and all he could think about was Ezio hurling towards the hard, cold ground. He tried to force his shoulders to relax but it was to no use, it had been his plan, his stupid contraption. Ezio had taking the flying machine to break into the Palazzo to save the doge from the templars and hopefully in turn Venezia and all her people.

Why did it always have to be Ezio, risking his life while the rest of them waited behind, rolling their thumbs? He pushed his hands through his hair wishing that there were something he could do. Whatever confusion existed between him and Ezio the fact that the man was his oldest friend and that he would do anything for him was as true and certain as the sun which rose each morning.

A gentle tap on the top story window suddenly broke the silence, Leonardo didn’t hear it at first; too caught up in his fretting. When he finally noticed it, he stopped abruptly in his track and almost tipped a painting over; he reached out and steadied it, hands suddenly clammy and heart racing.

He moved over to the window and undid the lock and slid the shutters aside, he stepped back and allowed a white clad Ezio to pull himself inside. Leonardo’s heart beat at triple speed as he quickly asserted that the man seemed alive and unhurt and he let out a breath he had not known he was holding.

Ezio landed silently on the floor and rose carefully and Leonardo was filled with dread again, something was wrong he could feel it in his bones.

“Ezio?” he asked carefully.

“Mm,” was all the reply he got before the man pushed past him and threw himself down on a chair in the studio, legs sprawled out in front of him and face hidden in his hands. Leonardo stood uncertain in the door wondering what he should do, he ran a nervous hand through his hair and thought of the scar on Ezio’s finger and that very visible reminder that the man in front of him killed people for a living.

“How, how did it go?” He asked when the silence stretched out and it became apparent that Ezio was not going to say anything.

Ezio rubbed his face and finally let his hands fall away; he took a deep breath and looked calmly at Leonardo.

“I killed him,” He said at last, not meeting Leonardo’s eyes and instead looking blankly at a point somewhere below his ear.

“And Giovanni Mocenigo, the Doge??” he said walking slowly into the room and lighting a candle.

“I was too late, Grimaldi had already poisoned him,” the man still refused to look at Leonardo, for all the world sounding calm and composed. The only thing betraying him was his burnt marked finger tapping frantically on his leg.

Leonardo didn’t say anything but went to the dark brown cupboard he kept his paints in and brought out a glass bottle of wine and two cups. He uncorked the bottle and smelled it; the sweet and aromatic fragrance filed his nostrils and calmed him. It was a good vintage, the one he offered to rich clients coming to him for commissions.

He poured them a cup each and left the bottle out on the table. Ezio took the offering without a word and emptied it instantly. After, he sat turning the cup round and round between his fingers, the tiny goblet looking like a child’s in his hands. Leonardo took a sip of his own and rolled the blood coloured liquid round in his mouth before swallowing.

He spied at Ezio over the rim of his cup wondering why the man was here and not at Antonio’s house as the agreement had been.

“What will you do now?” he asked finally looking carefully at Ezio’s profile as he did.

“Leave Venezia, keep away until things settle down,” Ezio never hesitated, “I cannot be allowed to be caught or all has been for naught.”

Leonardo looked away, nine years now and Ezio was still oblivious to any progress or time having passed. In his mind he was stuck in Firenze, it was like a hub he circled around and always came back to. He looked at the top of Ezio’s head, the mop of dark hair unruly from the night. He realized then and there that Ezio would never leave those events behind him. Whatever else Ezio himself wanted would always come second and that included Leonardo.

He drank his wine, hiding behind the cup even though no one was looking at him. A certainty settled over him as he realized that no, this was not what he wanted, not what he needed. Whatever he had wanted from Ezio, the man had not to give. The confidence he felt by that realization stunned him.

Leonardo bent forward to refill Ezio’s cup and almost spilled the expensive liquid as Ezio’s hand darted out and grabbed his arm. Leonardo pushed but Ezio’s grip was like a vice. He looked up and saw that Ezio was looking at him, eyes meeting his for the first time that night. Leonardo’s chest tightened, Ezio looked drawn, tired beyond words, pain like a presence in his eyes.

“Leonardo,” he said and it was like a whisper, a broken thing, so far from Ezio’s normal carefree and strong voice that it shook Leonardo more than he would have believed possible. Or maybe the other tone was the facade, the mask he put on and this was something of the man beneath. Leonardo would never understand him.

“I,” Ezio continued and his eyes feel down to his own hand holding his in place, Leonardo was half leaning over the table, hip painfully jammed into the corner, the neck of the bottle still in his hand, coarse glass warming slowly in his grip.

Ezio looked at his own hand as if he was surprised it held Leonardo, like it had acted on its own. Leonardo could feel the grip loosen somewhat, blood returning to his fingers and he was looking now as well, Ezio’s fingers circling his bare forearm. His shirt had been pushed up at his elbows and was now hanging down to rest on Ezio’s wrist. Leonardo licked his lips, uncertain where this was leading.

Ezio’s thumb lifted and began running slow circles across the skin, crossing the blue blood vessel pumping visibly on the inside of Leonardo’s wrist. The movement sent shivers down his spine, a band of iron tightening around his chest. He looked on unable to tear his eyes away from Ezio’s thumb, leaving burn marks behind which would never fade.

“Why did you come here?” Leonardo asked, whispering, for some reason he felt afraid to speak out loud.

“I had to see you,” Ezio said and he turned up to look at Leonardo again, the despair in his eyes slowly being replaced by something else, a look Leonardo knew all too well.  He almost faltered then, the desire he saw mirroring his own and he felt his body beginning to stir and it took all the power of his mind to speak the next question.

“And tomorrow?” Ezio looked taken aback and hesitated before answering.

“I will still have to leave tonight,” it was tentative, like he was not sure that was what Leonardo wanted to hear.

“And when will you be back?” Leonardo continued and it was easier now, he allowed himself to gain speed, to continue without thinking, he ignored the shattered pieces of his heart.

“Tell me, when will you be back after that, when will I see you again?”

Ezio had a stunned expression on his face which cut into Leonardo’s stomach worse than the man’s knifes could ever do.

“You more than anyone know why I do this, my family...” and Leonardo could not let him finish, if he stopped now he would falter, give in to Ezio as he had promised himself not to.

“Your father, your brothers are dead Ezio,” He was speaking loudly now but he couldn’t stop himself, “They are dead and avenging them will never bring them back,” he was breathing heavily, head spinning as a hysterical dizziness settled over him and he had to clamp his mouth shut to keep from laughing like a mad man.

“I know,” Ezio said, rage barely hidden under the surface, eyes ablaze.

“No, no you say the words but you do not believe them,” Leonardo knew that he had gone too far at the same time as he knew he was finally right when he saw the man’s face grow white as all blood left it, he had reached something fundamental within the other man.

Leonardo continued in a hurry before anyone went too far, said things which could not be forgotten.

“I am still your friend Ezio, I will always be your friend,” he knew it was not what he said but what he did not. That he would  not be his lover, not when Ezio would never be free of the memory that haunted Leonardo’s dreams as well, those three bodies swaying slightly and growing still one after another, their feet, a moment before kicking wildly trying to find ground, suddenly hanging limp.

He shook his head to get rid of the image clinging to his retina. He looked at Ezio and with an acute sense of desperation he wished he could take it all back, seeing Ezio broken before him was not worth it.

It only lasted a moment before Ezio in front of his eyes put himself back together, picked up the pieces of his mask and once again stood before Leonardo as the assassin not the man. It wasn’t until then that Leonardo knew it was finally over and in a brief hallucinatory flash saw their lives play out in front of him, like waves going in the same direction, occasionally crashing into each other but always travelling apart never together. He would always be there for Ezio, it was more than he could bear not to but the thing he wanted most he could not have, it was clear now.

They parted with a hand shake and they both called each other their oldest friend before Ezio disappeared in the darkness.


	3. Venezia 1488

_Venezia Anno 1488_

Leonardo’s workshop felt crowded although there were only the four of them with plenty of room to spare. He was staying back as the three men entered one after another, taking up space with their solemn faces. They carefully placed something on the table; it was covered in coarse fabric but appeared round and about the size of a closed fist.

It was in the middle of the night but Leonardo was fully dressed, he had been reading about Pythagoras, a Greek philosopher and mathematician. The book was in Latin, which he had to admit he was not very good at so had been reading until late when Ezio had suddenly appeared at his door. He had looked shaken and his uncle and Machiavelli, another of the assassin order, had been looming over his shoulders watching the street with calculating and watchful stares. Their hands held close to their weapons and something in their postures told Leonardo that blood had been spilled tonight.

Leonardo had not said anything, just backed into the room allowing them to enter. Machiavelli had cast a last glance over his shoulder, making sure they were not watched before he closed the door behind him.

He watched them as they calmed down, the frenzied feeling which had accompanied them inside dying down. Ezio looked tired he thought, worn like he was carrying a heavy burden. Something clenched in Leonardo’s chest as he allowed his eyes to rest on the man for a moment. He missed him, deeply and truly, things were not like they once had been between them and he doubted they would ever be again. Over the last years some of the last remnants of hope and gaiety had left Ezio, as time went by and it became apparent that he was no closer to his goal he had seemed to lose something of his former stride.

It had become more pronounced since that night, when Ezio had failed to save the Doge and Leonardo had rejected him. In the time which had followed the Templars had made sure Ezio was blamed for the murder, even though he had been trying to prevent it and the assassin had not been able to show himself back in Venezia for a long time. When he had finally returned the city had been a darker place, less welcoming.

Ezio had helped restore order, like he always helped those who asked him. The order of the assassins had helped Venezia out of her trouble and Ezio had finally been on the trace of the man behind the murders of his family; the Spaniard.

Leonardo could still remember the glowing fervour in Ezio’s eyes as he had told him about the man. They had not been alone or Leonardo would have told him to be careful but there had been others present and Leonardo had stayed his tongue. Perhaps before he could have said something like that, before the awkward silences and troubling memories had come between them. It turned out that getting over Ezio had not been as easy as it had seemed.

They were still friends but it was colder now, the bond of intimacy created by all the things they shared had been broken. Ezio was polite and still called him his friend but he no longer looked at him with eyes filled with laughter.

Leonardo forced himself to return to the task at hand, he had a task to attend to, important if the serious expressions on the men’s faces was anything to go by and his broken hearth was of no consequence in the grand scheme of things.

The look on Ezio’s face tonight, stiff, jaw clenched told him they had not got the Spaniard. Maybe the object was the one the old assassin, Altair had spoken of, the thing the men before him had just been trying to take back from the Templars. Mario looked at him and carefully pulled the cloth away from the object on the table.

Leonardo drew in a hissed breath and he could feel his eyes grow wide. On the table was the most remarkable thing he had ever seen, it shone as if it contained a candle yet it looked perfectly solid, lines and folds looking impenetrable crossing its surface. There was something else he thought, like the object had a presence of its own, like it was aware of where it was and of them; once revealed it became impossible to ignore.

He knelt reverently in front of the table, not daring to touch it. So this was the thing the Spaniard had been after, why so many men and women had died he thought.

“Fascinating... absolutely fascinating!”

 “What is it Leonardo, what does it do?” Ezio sounded frustrated as he waved at the sphere. Leonardo shook his head,

“I could no more explain this than explain to you why the earth goes around the sun,” he replied, voice still in awe; he had never seen anything like it before.

“You mean the sun around the earth,” Ezio’s uncle replied but Leonardo ignored him, people were not ready for that knowledge in the same way as he was starting to become convinced that no one was ready for this, whatever it was.

“It is fabricated with materials that shouldn’t exist.. and yet.. this is clearly a very ancient artefact,” he said.

“Our assassin codex refers to it as a piece of Eden,” Mario said.

“The Spaniard... he called it ‘The Apple’,” Ezio ignored his uncle and looked at Leonardo as if he expected that he held all the answers, that Leonardo would make it all understandable. He began to shake his head to show how utterly lost he was when suddenly what Ezio had said hit him and he could feel his mouth go dry and his palms start to sweat,

“Like Eve’s apple? Or forbidden knowledge? Are you then suggesting that this thing..., “ Leonardo got up, not sure he wanted to be this close to the artefact anymore.

Ezio just hitched his shoulders up, he did not know. Leonardo kept looking, his mind whirling with possibilities; he tried to remember everything he had read about the history of the assassin order, anything which would help them now.

He was too caught up in his own mind and it was not until it was too late that he saw Ezio reaching for the object with his bare hand.

“No, Ezio,” Leonardo said, without really knowing why he reached for the man but was blinded by a golden light, as bright as any sun filling the room.

In the background he could hear the other men cry out in shock, hands trying to cover their ears and eyes. It made a noise Leonardo realised, it was nothing he had heard before and he felt like a newborn babe meeting the wonders of the world for the first time. In the light emanating from the orb strange symbols was visible, they covered every surface of the room drowning out everything else. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

As suddenly as the light came it went away, Leonardo felt an intense pang of loss. Whatever it had been had been wonderful and yet terrifying at the same time. He looked at Ezio, who was clutching his right hand against his chest, he looked at him. Eyes filled with something which looked remarkably like fear.

Leonardo took one step forward and reached out for Ezio, wanting to do something to comfort the man, give whatever he had. He would do anything not to have to see that look in his eyes. But Ezio shunned back, it was almost imperceptible, the tiniest stiffening of his body but it was enough to stop Leonardo in his track. For a moment he had forgotten that he had no right.

He took a step back instead and allowed Mario to ask if Ezio was fine. He did not look at Leonardo again but he could see that the mask was back on. They could reach no conclusions that night and Machiavelli bestowed the apple unto Ezio for safekeeping. As they left Leonardo reached for Ezio again, in the door where he could not shy away. He clasped his upper arm, feeling the muscles under his fingers tense. He did not say anything just held on for the briefest moment before Ezio walked past without looking back. He hoped Ezio would realise all he could not say even if he chose not to acknowledge it. That he was there for him, always.

ooo

“Thank you for your hospitality yet again Antonio,” Ezio rose from his chair eager to get going now that he knew where. It had been decided that he would hide the apple in Forli, the city was heavily walled and controlled by an ally to the assassins. After leaving Leonardo’s workshop he had come to stay with Antonio until a ship cold be found and now finally it was time. The apple was marvellous and strangely beautiful and yet he could not wait for it to leave his possession. It was something so odd about it, a humming inside its shell which seemed to speak to him and him alone. It frightened him, he could never admit it but it did.

“You are welcome as always Ezio, the man replied clasping his hands together, “Before you go I had meant to ask you something?”

“Ask me what,” Ezio looked at the man, waiting for him to speak. He seemed to be in doubt, as if he was afraid of Ezio’s reaction.

“Spit it out thief, I do not have all day,” perhaps it was a bit harsh but he was in no mode for this right now, he wanted to get going, feel leagues pass beneath his feet.

“What about Leonardo?” Antonio said looking unperturbed by Ezio’s outburst.

“What about him?” Ezio replied, voice carefully level, any feelings he might still harbour kept out, there had been time to practice after all.

“He is not of our order, yet he is so deeply involved he knows as much as all of us. Perhaps even more,” Antonio walked as he spoke and ended up in front of the unlit fireplace, arm resting on the oak beam which served as a mantel piece.

“He would never betray us,” Ezio’s voice was quivering with anger and his hand had gone involuntary to his sword belt.

Antonio looked shocked at the allegation, “No, merde, of course not Ezio I did not mean...” He looked genuinely disturbed and Ezio let his hand fall back down his side still not liking the way the man talked about Leonardo.

“You must know he is in danger, he has all our knowledge but none of our skills to protect himself.”

Ezio calmed down all the way, turning his back on Antonio as he considered what the man had said. Leonardo had always known everything Ezio had known, had been with him all of the way on his journey, he had always known it was a dangerous path. He sighed tiredly, perhaps Antonio was right, the Apple changed everything. He might not know what it was or what it did but he knew it was bigger than his own quest, it was about the fate of the world now.

“Will you not be able to look after him,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he remembered how close the men seemed whenever they were together. He hoped Antonio took it for resentment against the Templars.

Antonio looked at him with his head leaned on the side, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes.

“You know as I do that I cannot look after him always, I will set my thieves on lookout but if the Templars want him then that will not be enough.

“Besides,” the man continued looking straight at Ezio, “I do not think he would let me watch him all the time, he has too much pride in him. Just like you.”

Ezio almost laughed out loud but he faltered when the solemn expression on Antonio’s face did not fade. Was he serious? He had never thought about his relationship with Leonardo or himself like that. Pride? Did he suffer from it? He never acted but for the good of the cause, for the good of others. He had not acted for himself in as long as he could remember, surely he was beyond pride.

While he stood, mouth open, Antonio continued, “A more stubborn man than you I have yet to lay my eyes on. Why Leonardo is still your friend I will never understand,” he shook his head sadly.

Ezio wanted to leave; this was not a conversation Antonio had any right to engage in. The man was trespassing where he was not wanted. He repeated this to himself fuelling uncertainty and regret into righteous anger.

“I do not see how this matter, my ship is sailing and I have to go,” He grabbed his cloak and turned to the door.

“He will be in great danger don’t you see?” Antonio shouted but Ezio refused to listen as he told himself he had every right to leave, he was not running away.

ooo

Ezio was sitting cross-legged on the ship’s wet deck, his cape wrapped tight around him. The sky was a miserable steel grey colour and the wind was slowly but surely picking up in strength. He was leaning back against the railing, looking at the dockworkers loading the last of the cargo onto the ship. At this pace they would be late and if they could not set sail soon then the oncoming storm would hit them, making it difficult to leave the port.

His sat perfectly still, as his uncle had taught him, showing nothing outwards but inside he was in turmoil. He had to leave he knew that, he had to find a secure location for the Apple or all would be lost. He now knew some of the secrets behind his families death, yet still far from everything. The Spaniard, the templar mastermind behind it all, would be relentless in his attempts to get the artefact back and who knew what damage it could do in the wrong hands.

So much rested on his shoulders, had always rested on his shoulders, all the dead he had left behind would never allow him to lay down this burden. He could not let his friendships distract him, no matter what others thought. He repeated again the words which always came to him in moments like this, “I owe, the truth is written in blood,” he whispered them, the words being ripped away by a gust of wind, never reaching his own ears. He was sure the spirits of his father and brothers would hear him anyway, in his mind they were never far away.

Antonio’s last words were still running through his mind over and over, “You are too proud assassin. No one can live alone!” shouted after him as he had left. He had thought that repeating the oat, reminding himself that he owed a blood oat to his family, that he had been spared to be able to revenge them would ease his pain, this was after all his sole purpose. It did not.

He felt torn, like he was breaking apart at the seams. Something which had been holding him together had been lost, a certainty that what he was doing was the right thing, that his path was the righteous one. Oh, he did not doubt the assassins or that he had to keep the apple from the Templars but he was beginning to doubt other things. He had always thought himself alone, a lone soldier against the world. However, it seemed he was part of an order and that he was not without help. There were others who could assist him, he did not travel alone and he never had.

As his insides were slipping apart, breaking down he could feel himself being reshaped, transformed into something new. On one hand he had his old beliefs about his mission, his revenge, and all the people he owed, dead or alive. On the other he had Leonardo, beautiful bright Leonardo. He had always been by Ezio’s side, never blinked no matter how dark the path or what Ezio asked of him. He had always thought it was a betrayal to who he had been forced to become to rely on others. How could he be happy, find comfort while the breaker of his family still walked this earth? He had no right.

Now he wondered if the truths he had lived after so long were really truths at all. He blinked suddenly, left hand reflexively grabbing his assassin blade hard, fingernails digging down into the leather,

“Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.”

This time he spoke the words loud and clear, the ancient words of his order, he had repeated them when he became a full assassin and many times after. Had he ever understood them? He had always assumed they meant that he was allowed to do anything to accomplish his mission and that the order was above man made laws. Now he wondered if that really was the meaning behind the words?

The wind tugged at his cape, trying to flay it from his body. Above, dark storm clouds where gathering and the first splash of rain hit his face, he looked up and let the rain enfold him, it was cold and angry. Antonio was right he suddenly realized, he was filled with pride. He was not alone in this, had never been alone either in his mourning or his pain. He had always had people with him, his sister, mother and friends but foremost Leonardo. He felt ashamed, disgrace filling him as he realised that he had been mistaken in this, so very wrong.

Pain hit him, flooding his limbs as he thought about Leonardo trying to comfort him when they had found the apple. He had been too proud to take pity from the man, too arrogant. He had always believed he was alone, had never seen all the shadows following him, supporting him and holding him up. And the man who meant the most he had scorned in haughty stupidity.

He stood up suddenly, decision already made before he realised it himself, and leaped over the railing, feet landing hard on the stone dock sending sharp jolts of pain up his calves. He ignored it and started to run, the ship was still being loaded, maybe there was still time.

ooo

“Ezio? What?” Leonardo looked confused and a bit sad to see him and Ezio forgot what he had planned on saying, the words he had carefully prepared running through the rain and mud of the deserted city streets.

Rain was still pouring down, running down the walls of buildings in thick sheets and mixing into badly smelling ooze on the ground. His white robes were stained up onto his thighs and he was wet down to his bones. He was standing in the rain in front of Leonardo’s door, the man himself leaning against it, sheltering under the outcrop of the roof.

“I have to go, have to make sure the apple is safe,” He stammered and Leonardo looked at him, puzzlement clear on his face.

“I know, shouldn’t you be on the ship right now? Why are you even here?” He was pointedly not asking him inside and Ezio understood all too well, the pain and the distance in his voice; he deserved it all. This he would have to earn.

“I had to see you before I leave,” Ezio blinked away the water running into his eyes and looked at Leonardo, trying to will the man to understand all the things he could not express in words. How erroneous he had been, that he had believed in all the wrong truths.

“There are not enough words my friend, no words I know at least which I can use. I’m sorry,” he didn’t let Leonardo reply but quickly stepped forward and grabbed the man around the waist, pulling their bodies together. He could feel Leonardo strain against him, body stiff and dismissing. He ignored it hoping he was not too late. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Leonardo’s. His were wet and rain was still streaming down his face, damp hair clinging to Leonardo as he pressed their foreheads together.

Leonardo was warm and dry, he found himself pulling ever closer drawing on his heat, trying to make it a part of him. He kissed him gently, trailing his lips and mumbling, “Leonardo,” over and over. The man was still unresponsive but Ezio refused to give up, it could not be too late, he could not be too late.

Just when he was beginning to hesitate, his stomach sinking, Leonardo suddenly yielded, his lips opening and hands going around Ezio, holding him, or holding on to him, he did not know. He kissed him back with all the passion Ezio could remember and a tang of sadness he could not. Leonardo dragged a hand up into his hair, grabbing on to the wet strands hard enough to hurt but Ezio could not care less.

They stayed like that for a long while, kissing deeply and passionately as Ezio’s cold, damp skin slowly warmed against Leonardo and they both were soaked through. Then Leonardo was pulling away and Ezio was suddenly terrified that he was changing his mind.

“Not here,” Leonardo said, voice hoarse and Ezio looked dumbfounded around him, the street was empty but they were still standing where anyone could see them. He pulled towards Leonardo’s door but the man shook his head and pulled Ezio thought the gate and into the adjacent walled garden belonging to the casa.

Once hidden from public view Ezio found himself pushed up against the stone wall, water soaking trough his cape in an instance. He didn’t really notice, however, as Leonardo was pushing up against him, hips grinding ruthlessly into his and all he could do was cling to the man’s shoulders as his knees almost gave way from want.

Leonardo licked at his throat, lapping at the rain running down from his hair in steady streams. His tongue was hot on his chilled skin and Ezio shivered and pushed back against him, already fully hard and aching.

He enclosed Leonardo’ face in his hands, pulling him up to face him. He brushed away the wet strands of hair clinging to his cheeks with his thumbs and just looked for a second. Leonard’s eyes were dark and drops of water were clinging to his long eye lashes. The rain was making his hair a darker shade and his skin looked even paler than usual. Ezio felt something close to happiness filling his chest and pulled the man to him, kissing him deep, tongue licking inside following the rows of teeth before finding its counterpart.

Leonardo gave up a horse moaning into the kiss and suddenly the man’s hands were on his trousers, pulling them down over his hips. The wet fabric clung to his skin and Leonardo’s fingers were warm and delicate against his skin. For some reason he just stood there, wanting to see what would happen. Normally he always took control but now all he could do was push his fingers in under Leonardo’s collar and get his hand on skin.

Leonardo wasted no time and soon his own leg cloths was out of the way and he was grinding against him like there was no tomorrow and Ezio was doing his best not to come then and there. The feeling of Leonardo against him, hot and swollen, sliding and rubbing against him as rain water made them slippery was doing his head in.

They clung to each other and breathed heated moans into mouths and necks as Leonardo continued and Ezio started to say his name over and over again. He felt like he had to say it, to make sure this was real or perhaps he just couldn’t stop. As he whispered it again into Leonardo’s ear the man came hot and splashing on their stomachs, a cry wrangled form his lips and Ezio followed suit, pulling Leonardo towards him as hard as he could.

ooo

When Ezio finally pulled free they were both breathing heavily and their faces were flushed and wet. Leonardo reached out to steady himself on the wall, pushing hair away from his face and Ezio found that he could not stop grinning. He had whished that the artist would forgive him; he had not dared to hope it would be like this. He sorted his clothes out, wiping his hand over his stomach and shaking it in the rain still pouring down on them.

“I will come back, as soon as I have left the apple in Forli I will be back, I promise,” Ezio spoke almost insistently, wanting Leonardo to say yes, to have patience with him.

“I’ll wait,” was all Leonardo replied, a new gleam in his eyes. He stretched out and cupped Ezio’s cheek as he leaned in and placed another kiss on his lips, this one almost chaste.

“Hurry back.”

“I will, I swear,” Ezio replied and he cast one last look at Leonardo before he turned on his heel and ran, hoping the ship would still be there.


	4. Forli 1488

_????_

Pain.

It was the single thing he knew, the only thing that existed. He hurt.

There was pain and then there was darkness again. He welcomed it, it was better than this.

ooo

When he regained consciousness there was still pain, but less so. He still hurt, only he could think now, he had a name; he was something more than the pain. He wondered if he had imagined that other wakening; perhaps it had been a dream, although he could not remember any other dreams. He tried to move and was almost surprised when he realised that he was still in pain, he must have forgotten. Now it shot through him filling him up and he had to fight to keep awake.

“Shhh, sleep,” a voice said and Ezio thought that it sounded like good advice.

This time he did dream.

 

_Forli, Anno 1488_

_The dirt track underneath his feet was hard and compact from years of heavy use. As he ran his feet did not stir up dust and he left no prints behind.  The ground gave a firm hold and he ran as fast as he could, air rushing past his ears, chest heaving in bellowing breaths. He ran through two rows of tall cypresses, constantly moving from shadow to light and back again._

_He could see his target now, far ahead of him down a hill; a pale horse with a sturdy rider navigating the swampy land. There was no one around, the villagers all having gone into hiding from the roaming patrols striking down anyone foolish enough to get in their way. He jumped a fence, feet already moving before he landed on the other side. As he ran down the hill he heard screaming and the clash of swords at a farmstead lying between him and the man he was chasing, he cursed and tried to spot another way around the buildings in front of him, but everything else would make him lose sight of his target._

_Before he could decide a group of what looked like hired soldiers emerged from behind the whitewashed barn, swords and maces still in hand. They spotted him as soon as he did them and their leisurely postures were replaced by tense anticipation of violence._

_He hit them before they could react, a throwing knife slicing cleanly through the throat of the nearest man and at the same moment he had his sword pulled and crashed into a man on his left. They tumbled down in a pile on the ground, Ezio’s sword protruding from the man’s back, having gone all the way through. The first man was still standing up, screaming a guttural cry as he clasped his broken throat and his damaged windpipe added a high pitched wheezing._

_Ezio jumped to his feet, placed his right foot on the dead man’s ribcage and tore his sword away to meet the swing of a battle mace aiming for his head. The hit was heavy and made his arm reverberate, almost making him loose his balance._

_He jumped backwards, trying to get some space between him and the group of armed men. His moment of surprise was gone now, they were ready and alert of him, weapons raised and bodies poised for attack. Ezio slowly spun around, turning to look at the men, as the remaining soldiers surrounded him in a loose circle. They where dirty and their armour patched but they held their weapons firmly, handling them with an ease which spoke of competence and practise._

_He had made them weary by killing the first two so easily and now they were biding their time, waiting for him to strike one of them so they could take him from behind. He smiled to himself and on a whim allowed the grin to fill his face like a madman. As long as they misjudged him he had a chance. He eyed the fighters and chose his first target, a younger man than the rest. Eyes constantly darting to the men on his sides before he looked back at Ezio, trying to imitate the pose of his more veteran comrades. Ezio started to mock a grey streaked man standing to the left of the boy._

_“You_ _cane codardo_ _, come and take me,” The man did not move, having lived too long to fall for a ruse like that, but the younger man was looking at the man now wondering what he would do, for a moment forgetting to keep his eyes on Ezio._

_Ezio took his chance and with the sun in his eyes stroke out fast, taking the youngling’s sword hand clean off. The soldiers behind him, also with the glaring afternoon sun against them were not fast enough to react and Ezio took the moment of chaos to change the direction of his blade and let the broad side hit the head of another man, a sickly crunch telling him that the man would not rise again._

_He parried a short sword and jumped quickly to the side to avoid a dagger aimed at his chest, he kicked a dual wielding man in the chest, unsettling his balance before allowing his sword to come around and finishing him off. On instinct he rolled forward, feeling the movement of wind as a mace passed through the air where his head had been mere moments before._

_He came to his feet and spun around to face the last two men; the mace wielder, a giant of a man, and the grey bearded veteran._

_“Anyone who leaves now can live, run and maybe you will make it back to your families,” Ezio let a cold tone fill his voice, naked steel and death. He could see the older man hesitate, a glance so quickly he almost missed it to the younger man on the ground who was still screaming and clutching his stump. Son, Ezio realized._

_The giant man just sneered and laughed, “I will have your heart as dinner little assassin and then who will make the threats? Ezio ignored him and looked straight at the older man,_

_“A hundred florins if you help me, enough to make sure you and your boy can get started somewhere else,” To his credit as a mercenary the man did not hesitate at all and Ezio almost laughed at the surprised look on the giant as the old man’s sword opened his belly. Ezio was glad he did not have to fight the man, the ease and ruthlessness with which he ended his comrade would have made him a dangerous and perhaps even lethal opponent._

_Ezio threw him his purse; it should have almost the right amount in it and without looking at the man he ran towards one of the dead soldiers’ horses. He hoped his assumption about the man had been right, that he would take the chance to run to his boy and not come after him._

_No one stabbed him in the back and soon he was lying flat against the neck of the mare, urging her on as fast as she would go. The fight had not taken long, yet long enough that he had lost sight of his target. His only hope was that the Orsini brother had no idea he was after him and was moving slow as to not raise suspicion._

_He let the rains loose and allowed the horse to run as it would across the swampy ground of the valley, praying that she would not take a wrong step and fall. At this speed it would kill them both. He muttered encouraging words in her ear as he urged her on. She was already breathing hard under him, latter forming in the corner of her mouth. She was a fast horse but no long distance runner, limbs slim and beautiful._

_As they rounded a bend suddenly there he was, Checco, riding at a moderate pace. Ezio crouched down lower and watched the distance grow smaller, any moment now the man would hear them coming and pick up speed and then it would all be lost._

_“Santa Maria,” he whispered sending a prayer to the holy mother, he was trying to protect the world after all. He raised his arm and freed the gunpowder weapon Leonardo had built him: he took careful aim, compensated for the movements of the horse; he would have only one try._

_He shot and cursed as he believed he had missed, the brother only turned around and spotted him as the bang echoed across the dale. Even from here Ezio could see his alarm in how he held his body and how he turned back and whipped his horse for speed. Then abruptly the horse went down on one knee throwing its rider off and now Ezio could see the dark wetness on its left haunch._

_Checco got up and started to run. Ezio jumped of his own horse, which stood on wobbly legs breathing hard, white foam dropping to the ground. Ezio drew his sword and ended Checco’s horse, the pale animal was screaming in pain, lying bleeding on the dusty ground. It was quick and then he too was running. He let his steps stretch out and soon he was gaining relentlessly on the man in front of him._

_He threw his sword away and it spun in a slow arch through the air and the fading light glinted red on the blood covered blade. Ezio did not see it; he was already flying through the air himself, assassin blade out. His left hand closed on the Orsini brother’s neck as the five inch, razor sharp steel cut through the muscles and bone in his neck like a warm knife slices through butter._

_The momentum Ezio carried made the blade go all the way through until the tip was sticking out through Checco’s throat._

_Ezio braced himself on the man’s body as they both fell down. Adrenalin was still coursing through him as he slid the blade out and he easily turned him around, the man was still alive. A wheezing, bubbling sound was coming from the hole in his throat and Checco had a look of panic on his face as blood started to foam in his mouth. He died within the blink of an eye and Ezio retrieved the Apple of Eden from his still warm hands._

_Only then as he tried to rise did he see the Orsini’s hand slide of the handle of a knife. Pain hit him instantly as his mind finally caught up with his body; he could not take his eyes away from the ornate hilt protruding from his lower abdomen. He tried to rise again but there seemed to be something wrong with his legs, they folded beneath him and he fell to his side, unable to move._

_He tried to shout, to get up again but all he could do was look on as his body failed him. Slowly the edge of his field of vision clouded, narrowing until all he could see was in a line straight forward._

_He saw his own hand resting in the dust, fingers letting go, one after another despite his every effort. His mouth opened but nothing came out as the Apple of Eden rolled out of his grip and bounced once as it rolled away from him._

_A boot clad foot appeared in front of him and he looked on as another hand closed around the apple._

_“No, you leave that alone puttana!” it came out like a croak and the man clad in dark robes paid him no heed. Ezio tried to move, tried to fight the fog sweeping over his mind taking him away but to no avail. The last thing he thought before passing out was that the man had only had four fingers._

_ooo_

_???? Anno 1488_

The third time Ezio opened his eyes he could see sunlight through a lattice, a pattern of black and white that burned on his retinas. He stared hard at it until it started to smudge out, loose it sharpness and he thought that he might lose consciousness again. To his surprise he didn’t but stayed awake.

The pain he vaguely remembered was still there, but manageable now. It was focused around his middle regions and had lost its edge; retreated to a dull background noise. He tried to sit up but there was a hand on his shoulder forcing him down. He felt ashamed, the pressure was light as a feather, and yet it was enough to hold him still. He stayed back on the bed and turned his head to the side, trying to spot his caretaker.

He first laid eyes on densely embroidered silk, deep red with golden weaves. He turned his head slightly and the Lady Forsa came into full view. He must be in Forli then, the town the Lady governed when she was not working for the assassin order.

“Bentornato to the world of the living Ezio,” she said, a relieved smile on her lips, “You should know it was close,” she added.

Ezio simply nodded, lifting a hand to his stomach feeling the linen wrapped tight around him.

“What happened,” his voice was horse and his throat felt like he had eaten a pound of sand and broken glass.

“Here, drink this,” Caterina held a cup watered, spiced wine to his lips and he drank greedily emptying the liquid yet still feeling thirsty.

“Il Doctore says it will be many days before you are back on your feet, you must take it slow,” She placed the cup on a table behind him and rang a small silver bell. The clear chime rang out loud and clear and Ezio realized that it was dead quiet. There were no sounds of battle or wounded men, all noises which had been there before things had gone black.

“The battle?” He said no more but she seemed to understand him perfectly.

“The siege was broken and the troops left as soon as it became clear that you had killed both the Orsini brothers, the soldiers realized that there was no one left alive to pay them,” as she talked a quiet servant entered with a tray covered with a cloth. The man placed it on the small side table and left the way he had come, a tiny bow to his Lady.

“The retreat, it should have taken days, perhaps even a week. No army moves that fast,” Ezio said.

Caterina looked at him with something Ezio could not read, her head turned to the side.

“It did Ezio,” she said and reached for the tray, pulling away the cloth revealing a bowl of steaming broth and more spiced wine.

Ezio’s stomach made a loud noise; he could smell the rich aroma and he felt like he hadn’t eaten in years. His mind drifted to the food and it took him a moment until he registered what Caterina had said and a cold hand gripped his heart.

“How long was I out?” he dreaded the answer yet had to know.

“Six days. My men found you barely alive far to the south, you almost died Ezio.”

Six days? He shuddered, it has been weeks he realized, the battle to take back Forli which they had found besieged as they arrived to place the apple under safeguard. Then to hold the castle after they had taken it back from the Orsini brothers’ forces and lastly his injury. It had now been months since he had left Venezia by ship and promised to be back soon.

He closed his eyes briefly, for a moment struggling not to pass out again. News would be slow yet he hoped Leonardo had heard of the siege and that he would wait for just a while longer. He pushed the treacherous thoughts away before despair could eat him. The thought of losing Leonardo, again, felt like more than he could bear.

He pushed the images of blond hair and beautiful smiles away and tried to focus on the now.

“The apple?” even in his own ears his voice sounded harsher than it had before. He had to ask yet he now remembered it all too well, it had not been a dream but a memory.

“We found Checco’s body next to you, dead as they get but neither of you had the apple on you,” She placed the tray in front of him, urging him to eat. So that last glimpse had been true, he thought, and not a figment of his imagination. He forgot all about his hunger and thought back to what he remembered.

“It was taken,” he said, “He wore a black robe. Like a monk... And I think... a missing finger? Si! Caterina, I have to go - right away.”

Haste burned in his veins joined with a sense of approaching doom. The apple, he had to reach to before it disappeared, he had already lost days and now there was no time to lose.

In the end he finished the broth before rising on weak legs, but only because Caterina had threatened to force-feed him while her guards held him down. She watched him with displeasure radiating from her like heat, and eyes narrowed as he rose and gathered his equipment. Pride and responsibility the only things holding him up and keeping his legs from folding under him. He had to find the apple before it left Forli, before the trail grew cold. It had been entrusted to him and him alone, he could not fail now.

ooo

It turned out it was not hard to track down the man with a missing finger who had taken the apple, and within days he thought he had pieced together the full story. The monk, Brother Savonarola, had been at the Abbey in Forli until some years previously when he had retired to an Hermitage in the outskirts of the city.

The brother was not at the hermitage anymore but another holy man Ezio tracked down supplied the information that Savonarola in his youth had been a student at the Santo Spirito in Firenze. Ezio had to assume that was where the monk had disappeared to, together with the apple. It was a dangerous thing; he had felt as much during the short time he had been in position of it. It would easily seduce a careless man.

ooo

Outside of Forli Ezio sat on his horse; it was turning into evening and the diminishing light was obscuring the horizon. He had already said his goodbyes and left Forli on the fastest horse he had been able to find, determined to follow the thief where he had to. His middle still ached faintly as he rode; the knife had left an ugly looking wound, edges jagged and still red. In the days since he had woken it had healed well enough that when he kept still he could pretend it wasn’t there. He was still now, yet for some reason he could feel its weak but insistent throbbing.

His horse danced under him anxious to get underway, to feel ground pass under hooves. Without looking down he rained it in with a firm grip on the reins and then absently pated the mottled stallion on its neck. Ezio was studying the crossroads in front of him intently, yet he did not see it. To his left the road lead to the harbour and the ships to Venezia and to his right was the way to Firenze and the apple; the way he should take.

As he had woken up from his wound and realized that the apple was truly gone his mind had been set. He had to find the apple and finish his task, to keep it safe. It seemed that yet again things were never as fast or easy in reality as they were in plans. Still there had been no doubt in him that he must find it and he had told Caterina that he was leaving for the city of his youth.

However, when he had come upon the crossroad he had stopped dead in his track as a surge of regret filled him up to a point where he could taste bile in the back of his throat. He had made a promise, a promise it was now clear he could not keep. He had been forgiven, made again by that vow and now that was all crumbling away. The new ground had not had time to settle and the smallest water would wash the stones away.

He sat for a long while unable to untangle the broken mess his life had become until he could not make out anything in front of him anymore and he had to rub his eyes to see clear again; his hand came away wet. It seemed like the things he wanted and the things he had to do were simply not the same.

He turned the horse to the right and nudged him gently on the ribs and they set of. This was his way, duty and responsibility, the path he had chosen so long ago that he now had to walk. He allowed the water to clear away the last of the earth for the foundation of a new life he had for a short while dreamt he might have, and gave those things up.


	5. Monteriggioni 1490

_Villa Auditore, Monteriggioni,_ _Anno_ _1490_

It was in the deep dark of night when Ezio reached the gates of Monteriggioni. He was tired to his very bones yet he refused to sleep another night on the cold, hard ground. Not that he slept much nowadays. On a good night he closed his eyes for an hour or two before restlessness and dark dreams forced him to rise again, on a bad he lay awake staring at nothing, too tired to sleep.

In front of him the dark silhouette of the city walls was almost undetectable against the sky, only visible as a darker shade of black. The sky was partly overcast and it was early enough in the month that the moon was only the slightest sliver of light, not strong enough to illuminate the city before him. He knew the way anyway, he could have ridden it with his eyes closed. Villa Auditore was the only home he had and even though he spent preciously little time there it was still where he went when he needed respite.

For the better part of two years now he had hunted the Apple of Eden without pause or rest and yet he was no closer to it now than when he had first set out. In the beginning he had told himself that he would soon find it, that it was only a matter of a few more days before he would catch up. He had made haste to Firenze following an evident trail left behind by the fleeing monk.

As he had reached Firenze, he had lost all trace of the man; it was as if he had evaporated from the face of the earth. For months he had searched the winding streets and milling plazas, leaving for brief trips around the surrounding cities as he began do doubt that Brother Savonarola was still in Firenze. As the months passed he had become more and more desperate in his pursuit, he had even traveled to Greece following a lead which had led nowhere.

Eventually he had to admit defeat. The failure had burned in him and weighted down on him like a mountain carried on his shoulders and so he had turned his horse homewards, riding for rest and a chance to lick his wounds in private.

It had been a bitter draught to drink; he had sacrificed so much to go after the apple, believing that he would get it back and that in the end it would all be worth it. He had broken a promise because he had believed he must, that the stakes were too high, and now he had nothing to show for it.

As his hunt dragged on his resentment for not being able to catch one fleeing monk had become mixed up with his failure to avenge his family. He had been unsuccessful in all the tasks he had set out on, decades ago he had started down a path to revenge his dead family, and still he had nothing to show for it. The Apple of Eden, that mysterious and powerful object which had been entrusted to him he had lost. The two tasks had become inseparable in his thoughts, icons of his futile life.

Sometimes, when he was true to himself, mostly after wine had dulled his forethought to a point where he was on the brink of consciousness he would allow himself to think about the third thing he had lost. The one person who had always believed in him and who’s faith had kept him going. He had lost his oldest friend and those nights when he passed out clutching an empty wine skin he could admit that maybe that was why he had lost faith in himself.

As he came up on the closed city doors he sat off his horse, the same one he had left Forli on. The beast stopped immediately as soon as no one was riding him anymore and Ezio allowed the reins to drop to the ground, leaving the horse where it stood whishing it would run away and find a new master. They had never got along and Ezio wanted everything gone which reminded him of the last two years.

He pounded on the small wooden door in the wall beside the ironclad gates and yelled at the night watchman to open up. A man smelling of sour wine with only half his teeth left opened. At first the man refused to let him in, he only peered at him through a small hatch in the door and did not recognize the master of the Villa. Ezio’ mood was foul enough that courtesy felt beyond him, instead he showed the steel of his blade through the bars and growled that he would burn the place to the ground if the man did not open for Ezio Auditore immediately.

He couldn’t even bother to feel bad about it when the man looked ready to piss himself as he fumbled with the bar of the door. He opened and Ezio walked past without looking at him. As far as he was concerned the man as the horse had stopped existing the moment they were out of his life.

At the Villa the guards at the door nodded a quiet, “Benvenuti a casa signore,” and opened the door for him, used to him arriving and leaving at odd hours. As he entered the familiar hallway he saw himself in a mirror and stopped for a moment looking at the gaunt, unwashed man who stared accusingly back at him from eyes set into dark caverns.

The vision made him change his mind and instead of turning to his rooms he went into the ground floor study wanting to see and smell something which told him he was finally home.

The study looked like it always had, some small details changed here and there, a new piece of artwork he could not make out in the darkness and a different clutter than he remembered but it was still so normal that calm settled over him and he found himself breathing out and letting his tense shoulders relax.

He sat down behind the large desk and stroked the worn wood, so old it was smooth as silk; it had been his father’s and was one of the few things he had been able to track down and rescue from his old home. Its wooden frame was not ornate but finely crafted and polished until it shone dully; it felt sturdy and made him feel like a part of his father was still with him.

He reached out to trace a finger over the leather-bound ledger his sister watched over like a hawk and thought about smiling but could not find it in him. Instead he closed his eyes and let his mind wander to his father and brothers. Over the years their faces had grown vague and unclear but he could still clearly hear how his father had said his mother’s name, voice full of love and how she had laughed; remember how Federico had snickered at a good joke and how he had shown Ezio how to fight with his fists, and how Petruccio had loved to run the streets of Firenze looking for treasure, odd, left behind things which no one else saw the value in.

ooo

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew his head was resting on his arms and he was slouched over the desk in front of him. He didn’t move and wondered what had woken him, for once no dreams of lost things had stirred him. Then he registered the hand on his shoulder and someone saying his name,

“Ezio, wake up,” he realized then that he was still sleeping and indeed dreaming. He laughed without mirth and lifted his head to watch the familiar shadow.

Next to him Leonardo da Vinci was kneeling, a hand on his shoulder gently trying to rouse him, the other hand holding a brass candlestick. The candle had almost burned down but the light was still too bright for Ezio and he had to shield his eyes from the flame.

“Ezio, are you hurt?” Leonardo’s voice was worried and Ezio wished that he would never wake up again. He lifted a hand to touch the wraith from his past, dirty fingertips carefully running down a pale cheek.

“Why do you always haunt me artist?” he said, quiet and more to himself than the image in front of him. “It is as if my mind has finally realized that my heart cannot be without you and so has decided on tormenting me with images of you when I sleep as well as when I am awake,”

He let his hand drop and placed his head back on his arms as fatigue washing over him. He closed his eyes against the sharp light,

“Now leave me,” he mumbled into the desk before sinking back into darkness and oblivion.

ooo

Leonardo da Vinci was woken by quiet voices outside his window. He rose but when he reached the window only the guard was left alone in front of the house. He stood for a moment hesitating; listening for noises from inside the house. When he couldn’t hear anything he gave in to his curiosity. He lit his bedside candle with a coal from the fireplace and put on a robe.

He walked down the stairs to the ground floor; his bare feet hardly making any sound against the cool stone floors. He hoped it was Mario back with news about Ezio, the man had left some months earlier in search of him. In the last year or so Ezio had moved around so much that any letter sent had always come back unopened. Eventually, as even the small trickle of news dried up Mario had left in search of his nephew.

It was dark downstairs and he stood in the empty hallway wondering if he should just go back to bed, had Mario had news he would have come and found him. Then he saw that the door to the study was open.

At first he thought the room empty and was on his way to leave when the candle flame flickered from a breeze of air and he saw the figure lying slumped over the desk. He knew that dark hair and those white robes, he leapt over the floors and gently placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. As he came closer he could see that Ezio was sleeping, back moving ever so slowly. He shook him gently.

“Ezio,” the man did not react so he shook a bit harder,

“Wake up, you cannot sleep here,” Ezio stirred slightly under him and groaned.

“Ezio, are you hurt?” he wondered if he should wake the servants so they could run for the medicus living in the town below, but Ezio slowly lifted his head and looked at him. Leonardo could tell he was not properly awake, eyes still unfocused.

Ezio looked starved and more tired than Leonardo had ever seen him before, eyes resting in deep, dark hollows, cheeks slightly sunken in. He had a light beard, when he had always gone clean shaven before. He stretched out for Leonardo and dragged a finger over his face.

Leonardo could tell he did not really see him and was already falling back to sleep. He tried to catch him, to get him to bed before it happened when Ezio spoke.

“It is as if my mind has finally realized that my heart cannot beat without you...” the rest disappeared in a drawn out mumble as his head sank back onto his arms.

Leonardo stood indecisive, trying to digest the fluttering of hope that Ezio’s words had rekindled in his chest. He allowed his fingers to rake through Ezio’s hair, the strands course from dirt yet still the most beautiful dark brown he knew.

Hi chest was filled with so many conflicting emotions, anger, relief, sadness, and encompassing it all the same burning heat that Ezio always caused. HE was happy the assassin was safe, angry that it had taken this long. Relieved that he seemed to be unscathed, sad at the worn down state of the man.

The light flickered and died and the room sank into darkness. It stirred him from his reveries and he grabbed hold of the sleeping Ezio, pulling the man’s arm over his shoulder and half dragged, half carried him to his bedroom.

He woke the servants and ordered up hot water, while he waited he undressed the sleeping man, placing all his weapons, armour and clothes in a pile to be taken outside later to be washed and mended. He stopped to wince in pain at the jagged scar across his stomach, he had heard from Mario that it had been close, but he had not felt it then as he felt it now seeing the ugly mark. He dragged a finger across the new skin thinking how fleeting and fragile life was.

As the water arrived he sent the maid away and washed him himself and never once during all this did Ezio wake up, he slept the sleep of a dead man. When he was done, he sat back and waited.

Claudia Auditore, Ezio’s sister, entered the room as dawn was drawing near. She was dressed in a blue dress, simple but of fine quality. It was split for riding and she held her gloves in one hand. She paused in front of the bed, just looking at her brother and then up at Leonardo, now dressed, sitting in a chair half sleeping.

“You should go sleep artist, this one here will sleep for hours if not days,” She smiled at her brother and pusjed a strand of his hair away from his face.

“Thank you bella donna but I will stay,” Leonardo said and she said nothing to counter him only nodded slightly, as if she had expected nothing else.

“He talks about you often you know,” Leonardo was pulled fully awake.

“He does?”

“Yes,” She laughed and Leonardo was struck by how much she resembled her brother, same dark eyes and hair and mouth curling like everything was a private joke. Like her brother had been as a young man, “Yes indeed artist, you would be the king of the world if everyone believed my brothers tales.”

Leonardo didn’t answer, for some reason it had never occurred to him that Ezio would return home and speak to his sister about him. Or that he had ever been on Ezio’s mind except when he was right there in front of him.

“I have to visit the farms today Leonardo, I will not be back until tomorrow,” she said, “Will you make sure he eats when wakes?”

“Yes of course amica,” she smiled at him again, cast one look at her brother and then left. She closed the door quietly behind her and Leonardo was again gladdened by the thought that she had taken him in so well these past months. Even though he had not seen her since she had called herself Claudia Auditore da Firenze she had greeted him like a long lost friend of the family.

He sat back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him and let his eyes rest on the form of the sleeping Ezio and slowly as the birds started their morning song he drifted slowly into some sort of half sleep.

ooo

_Venezia, Anno 1489, six months earlier..._

Leonardo put another log on the small fire, it was cold even for late December and his workshop seemed to loose warmth faster than he could keep the fire alive. If the temperature continued to drop it would slowly turn so cold that the very air would freeze. He was not sure air could actually freeze but he had read stories of places so cold that a man could die in a moment and where winds could freeze the water in your eyes. He poked at the embers trying to force the log to catch fire.

Eventually flames licked up the sides of the dried wood and he greedily reached out his hands trying to absorb some of the warmth. He stayed stooped down in front of the fire even though it hurt his back, anything to avoid looking at the room behind him. Instead he kept his eyes on the red and yellow flames as they danced in the soot stained fireplace.

“Almost time,” a voice said all too soon from the dark room. Leonardo sighed, turned his hands over one last time before rising up from his crouched position. He turned around to nod at the man standing in the corner. He could not help seeing, and what he saw made pain explode in his chest all over again. Where once his studio had stood, messy but his mess, was now only disarray. Everywhere he looked were broken frames and torn book pages all trampled down into the ground; nothing had been left standing.

He had managed to save some of his paintings and he had carefully gathered most of his research notes from the floor. Not all documents were whole, but with enough time he would be able to piece them back together. He was carrying most of the things he had been able to save; rolled up paintings and documents he carried in a hard leather tube, as thick as a horse’s thigh and a satchel filled with books that had survived the sacking was slung over his shoulder.

That someone, anyone, could do something like this to art, take something of utter beauty and break it, walk on it, piss on it, was beyond him. It was like a physical pain in his body to see the destruction of everything that he had cared about, yet he had opted to spend the day and early night here. He had convinced the assassins that this was now the last place the Templars would look for him. He had needed to say goodbye, to see it one last time and face what had happened here. They had promised to send what they could after him, when things had calmed down but even so it felt like he was leaving everything behind.

The man in the corner was leaning casually against the wall, head turned to the side as he scouted the road in front of the house. He was absently picking his nails with a small knife, although Leonardo found it hard to understand why since the rest of the man was so dirty that not even the smells of the desecrated room could completely disguise his stink.

“Are they here yet?” Leonardo said, restless now to leave this place behind him, to forget what had happened here.

“ ’ll be ‘ere when ’ll be ‘ere,” was the man’s only answer and he flashed a toothless grin at him. Antonio had assured him that the man’s ugliness was part of his brilliance, no one could bear to look at the pockmarked skin, trice broken nose, and black rotten teeth for long so no one remembered him, ideal for a thief. He was also one of the few that Antonio still trusted completely.

At that moment a quiet knock was heard on the back door, two short ones followed by a brief pause and finished by a single knock. Leonardo moved to open the door but was stopped as his grimy guardian stepped in front of him, showing him to be quiet with a finger to his lips. Leonardo nodded and the man smiled again and turned around to the door.

He turned his knife in his hand and hid his hand behind his back, the cruel inches of steel perfectly visible to Leonardo, if not anyone outside the door. He gently opened the door just an inch and after a brief moment of murmured discussion turned to Leonardo and nodded at him to follow.

They walked out and joined two cloaked men, hoods pulled down in front of their faces so Leonardo could not see who they were. The shorter of the two offered him a cloak of his own; he draped it over his shoulders, holding his satchel and leather case under the thick wool. He could see bulges in the other men’s robes, but theirs looked like weapons. He pulled his hood up and they started walking, one man in front of him and one behind. The thief with no teeth, he had not volunteered his name, disappeared in front of them.

 The brisk walk through the quiet city was tense, Leonardo tried to walk casually but he found that however much he tried his shoulders were painfully tense. At every step he expected to be stabbed in the back or find the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his stomach. He found himself walking faster only to bump into one of his guards in front of him, which made him slow down only to once again increase his pace. It was the most agonizing trip in his life, to believe that every second was your last, to fully expect to die and yet not be able to do anything about it.

He silently cursed the Templars and himself for being so stupid as to believe that they would leave him alone. He cursed how helpless he felt and how they had driven him from his home. It had only happened a week ago, yet it felt like a lifetime. He wondered if he was another man now, if the pain, humiliation, and fear had been branded into his very bones or if he had been purged of these feelings forever. He would not know until he had time to relax; yet he knew that he had changed.

When it had become clear that the apple was truly gone it seemed the Templars had decided that anything would go. They must have been as desperate as the assassins. They had come at night and broken Leonardo’s art in front of his very eyes, torn his books to pieces, and broken his models under their feet. They had injured him as well, although they had not realized that they had hurt him more by wreaking his life’s work. The things they had done to his body were like dust in the wind compared to seeing his very soul defiled.

He had even told them the simple truth, that he knew nothing about the apple; they had not believed him. He had been close in the end, close to telling them anything he knew about the assassins only to make them stop, for the pain to go away. As he had seen yet another painting ruined and tossed on the fire and as blood ran down into his eyes and made everything appear as it was washed in red he had wondered if there was anything he could say to make them stop.

That had been when Antonio and the thieves had broken in from all directions at once; the fight had been bloody but brief. In the chaos some of the Templars had escaped and it did not matter that he had told them nothing, now they knew he was important. They would come for him again if only to finish what they had begun.

He supposed that he had known deep down that it would eventually come to this, he had just not wanted to believe it and now he had to flee. He had spent days hiding in different basements and attics, allowing himself to be moved by night, as his wounds slowly healed while a new location had been sought for him. It had been Mario Auditore who had provided the solution, the Villa Auditore was well guarded by high walls and soldiers, he would be safe there. Especially if no one knew that was where he was.

Finally he could see water in front of him and smell the salt of the sea. They came to a small abandoned dock, the jetty broken down and the water not deep enough for most boats. A lone man was waiting for him, the posture told him it was Antonio himself. The two men in cloaks held back, guarding the waterfront while the nameless man appeared again by their side and jumped into a small rowboat and seated himself by the oars.

Leonardo walked up quietly beside Antonio who was looking out at the dark sea. A storm lantern was giving off a low glow through the joints of its protected sides. He didn’t say anything; he had nothing to say anymore, thanks and goodbyes already over and done with. They stood in silence for a moment before Antonio turned to him, a serious cast to his eyes. He placed a hand on Leonardo’s shoulder, squeezing lightly before letting go.

“Tell him to come back to us will you vecchio amico?” There was no question who he was talking about, there had hardly been any news from Ezio in months, only a stray letter now and then indicating no success.

Leonardo just shook his head, he had no influence there, nothing to offer. Antonio smiled sadly.

“For all his years he is still only a boy at heart,” the thief pulled up his hood and waved at Leonardo one last time before vanishing in the dark. Leonardo strained his eyes and ears but he could not see or hear him anymore, it was as if he had never been there.

He picked up the lantern and his items and walked with determined steps towards the row boat. He did not look back at Venezia, in his heart he was already somewhere new.

ooo

 _Villa Auditore, Monteriggioni,_ _Anno 1490_

The first thing that came to him was the fact that he was lying in a bed, an expensive one. He was encased in finely woven linen and the mattress was so soft is had to be feather. He felt rested yet couldn’t remember where he was or even what day it was. It had to be the Villa, he thought, or why would he be in bed? He opened his eyes reluctantly and saw the pale green of the canopy above his own bed in Monteriggioni.

A golden afternoon light was flooding the room, making the white washed walls appear softer than normally. The windows were thrown wide open and he could hear birdsong from outside. Home, it had been too long since he was home, he thought. Slowly his memories trickled back as he left the bliss of the newly woken behind and he remembered that he had ridden home last night. He couldn’t remember going to bed, indeed his last memory was of falling asleep in the study and dreaming Leonardo was there with him.

The light suddenly seemed dimmer and spending the rest of the day in bed lost its appeal. He stretched, slowly trying to work all the aches and accumulated kinks out of his abused muscles, he felt ravenous from hunger and his head was slightly fuzzy; the way it got when he had slept for too long. As he rolled his shoulders and grunted from relief there was a sudden noise of a book being closed and he realized that he was not alone. He sat up expecting to see his sister watching over him.

He put a grin on his face because he knew she expect it before turning towards her. The figure in the chair was not his sister. Ezio had a distinct feeling of being punched hard in the stomach and the grin slid from his face like a badly fitted mask. For a moment they just looked at each other, Ezio shocked to silence, and then he tore his gaze away and rubbed the heel of his palm into the sockets of his eyes.

“You’re awake,” Leonardo said, “are you feeling alright?” he carefully put down his book on a side table and turned back to Ezio who allowed his hand to drop. Maybe he wasn’t dreaming after all?

He looked up and Leonardo was still sitting there, an unreadable expression on his face. He was leaning back in a deep arm chair, wearing light summer clothes, suitable for a trip to the country side; which was where he was, Ezio realized, in his home.

“What are you doing here?” it popped out of his mouth and even before he had finished speaking he heard how wrong it sounded.

Leonardo looked defensive and perhaps a bit hurt as he answered, “Your uncle invited me.” At the same time as Ezio managed to spurt out, “Perdon Leonardo I did not mean...”

After that they sank back to awkward silence as they looked at each other, Leonard had two spots of red high on his cheeks but Ezio couldn’t decipher if it was because he was hurt, angry, or both.

Eventually Ezio couldn’t bear the silence anymore and he caved, he had never been one for waiting.

“Was that you, last night, in the study?”

“Yes, I found you there but you were so tired you feel back to sleep before I could get you to rise, so I had to carry you...” he trailed of leaving the sentence unfinished.

Ezio fumbled for something to say in return, the last thing he had expected when riding to the Villa was to find Leonardo here, in his own home. He was not prepared.

“Ah, merci,” he drew a hand through his hair and thought hard.

“Is my uncle here now?” he asked at last.

“No he left a while back, just after I arrived, looking for you,” Ezio felt his mouth twist into something between shame and annoyance that his uncle would look for him. To distract himself he asked Leonardo again,

“How did you end up here?”

 “It is a long story. Perhaps another time friend, when you are rested,” Ezio waited for more and eventually the man added,

“It got ugly in Venezia sometime after you left; the Templars went mad in their hunt for the apple. It became an untenable situation.” Leonardo looked down at his own hands and the dismissive note was clear in his voice.

“I couldn’t contact you unless they might find out I was here,” he shrugged as if he was apologising. Ezio nodded, it made sense and also sounded exactly like his uncle. Keep the only man capable of figuring out the apple’s secrets close and foremost alive. Something he should have thought about had he not been so consumed with his own wounded pride after losing the apple in Forli.

“I’m sorry Leonardo, I never meant for you to have to leave your home,” sadness filled him at the thought of Leonardo having to leave his hoe. That he had caused this, and that he had not realized that this was something the Templars might do. Yet he was not sure sadness was all he felt at having the man in front of him.

Leonardo shook his head, “It was not your fault, the Templars are the ones to blame,” it was simply a statement and it was clear that he bore no ill will, he continued, “Besides, a couple of my patrons had become quite... loud about wanting me to finish some projects they had commissioned. Let’s just say that leaving Venezia was not entirely bad.” He did not smile however and Ezio dared not pry and risk saying anything that might upset the tenuous peace in the room.

The conversation halted again but the silence was soon interrupted by a servant bringing plates of food. Ezio rose from bed, eager to eat and to have something to do, he desperately needed time to think. He glanced carefully up at Leonardo who seemed fully concentrated on the stew. It was clear he had not received the full story of how the man had ended up here, but he would not press the matter right now.

He found himself casting shy glances between bites, making sure Leonardo was still there with him. He couldn’t really remember anything from last night but the simple fact that the man was sitting by his bed had to mean that he had not cut all bonds of friendship. On the other hand he would not meet his eyes and he looked tense. Ezio had fully expected him to be angry and resentful, to scream at him that he never wanted to see him again. Yet here he was, eating in silence, it was unfathomable.

As they finished their meal the sun slowly sank down and disappeared under the sharp edge of the city wall. The silence was eating at Ezio so he rose and walked to the window, he was only wearing his breaches from bed but the air was still warm with left over heat from the day. He looked out at the familiar view and wondered if this was providence. He would have a chance to apologise, to explain, but as always he could not find the words. There were so many things he should say yet it would only be words.

He touched the scar on his stomach and gathered his courage, “I am not a good man Leonardo,” he started, eyes looking out over the tiled roofs of the town, the last rays of the sun making the red brick gleam like gold.

“No you are not,” Leonardo calmly agreed. For a brief moment Ezio was filled with a sharp flash of anger but he crushes it fast knowing wounded pride for what it was.

He laughed instead, a rueful, tired laugh and turned his head to look at the man sitting behind him.

“Merde Leonardo, you are not gentle with me.”

Leonardo smiled, the tiniest curl at the corner of his mouth and it felt like dawn had come to Ezio, he had not seen that smile in years and had thought he never would again. He fell quiet and really allowed himself to look at the man; his beard had grey streaks he could not remember when they had appeared. His hair was still the same colour and he still held his body like a youth, back straight and head high. There were creases on his forehead but his skin was still the same ivory colour as when they had first met. Ezio thought that he had never been more beautiful.

He turned back to the view although he did not see it anymore, a lump in his throat he had to swallow to remove. He grabbed the window sill, digging his fingers into the wood until pain cleared his mind.

“I give up Leonardo,” he said and couldn’t quite hide the resentment in his voice.

“Give what up?” Leonardo said.

“Everything, the assassin order, the apple, all of it. I am giving it all up,” it hurt to say it, to admit defeat but it was the truth, he had nothing more to give, he was spent. He was no longer an assassin, it was done.

“No,” the man answered calmly.

“No?” Ezio said, he had expected scorn and mockery but not to be contradicted, he turned around.

“No, you are not giving up,” he said,” You cannot give up who you are,” Leonardo stood up as if he was trying to emphasize his own words.

“It is not who I am anymore. I am starting a new life,” he swallowed and pushed the next part out, “I’m starting new. Perhaps, perhaps I could stay with you, carry your paint,” the last a poor attempt at a joke and the entire thing stilted and unsure, but he said it.

“No,” Leonardo said again.

“Ah, del corso, I see,” His voice fell in the end, throat closing; he turned around yet again to look out the window trying to hide the crushing feeling which had to show on his face.

Then Leonardo’s hands were on his shoulders forcing him to turn around. He gave grudgingly, too broken to resist properly.

“No because, stupido, you are not giving up,” Leonardo still held his shoulders and Ezio could see now that he was indeed mad, furious, eyes ablaze and entire body trembling.

“You are not giving up because I will not let you. You might not be a good man but these are bad times and we cannot all afford to be good men,” he swallowed a deep breath and visibly tried to calm himself.

“You are an assassin Ezio, have always been and will always be. I might not always like it but I have learnt to live with it,” he continued, “The apple, you will find it, but you must give it time, be patient. It will come to you, I might not understand it completely but this I am sure of. It has not finished with you,” there was concern and perhaps fear in his voice as he said it.

Ezio nodded slowly, what Leonardo said made sense. He did not know why yet it did. For the first time in a very long while he felt something like hope. He tried the feeling, rolled it over and tasted it, and yes, it was something like a seed of confidence. In mere moments Leonardo had restored something of his faith which it had taken himself years to destroy.

He met Leonardo’s eyes and the man must have realised how close they where and he dropped his hands from his shoulders and took a step back. Ezio automatically stretched for him but let his hand drop and said,

“If you stay with me, here,” he knew that was the only way. He could not do this otherwise, not any longer. Leonardo looked away, not meeting his eyes and said nothing. Ezio continued,

“We are too old for pride yet we both still have it plentiful. I cannot do this alone, I have never been able to do this without you and I see that now,” his voice was calm as he implored the man.

“Stay with me, help me retake the apple. Live with me, together with me.”

He stayed still letting Leonardo react to his words, he had never spoken these things out loud even though they had always been there, only he had been too proud to see them for the simple truths they were.

Leonardo lifted his head and with the slightest bend to his neck shook his head. Ezio thought he had gone deaf because he could not hear anything anymore, time must have stopped for a moment because he could not move; his limbs as stone.

He didn’t think he blinked and maybe years passed, he did not know. He was released from his petrification by warm breath on his lips; Leonardo was standing only inches away from him, had he moved or the world shifted? He was just looking at him, a searching in his eyes as he said,

“Why?”

“Why, what?” Ezio said hesitatingly, voice horse as if these were his very first words.

“Why can you not do this without me?” Leonardo said.

Ezio blushed, “You know why Leonardo.”

“Then say it,” Leonardo said and it had a finality to it.

Ezio only hesitated a second and that only because he could not believe that anything good in his life could be achieved with words alone.

“Because I love you,” he said.

Leonardo blinked and for a moment he was afraid he had gotten it wrong, but then Leonardo’s lips were on his. His entire body pressed flushed against him, mouth warm and firm as it opened before him. He sank into it like a stone into water, his entire being screaming in relief at finally touching and being touched.

He licked deep into Leonardo’s mouth and sighed when he moaned back at him. He let his hands desperately cling to the back of his shirt as Leonardo stroke up and down his bare back. He could feel every individual finger and he shivered.

As he finally pulled back for air he found himself looking into Leonardo’s eyes, now dark pools with heavy lids, his lips were already turning red and swollen. He was stunned again by the thought that he could have this, that he could deserve this.

“I love you and I have thought about you for every day in the last two years,” he said, wonder in his mind at how easy it suddenly was to find the words, “Will you stay?”

He clung to Leonardo as he spoke, hands on the man’s slim shoulders but he did not care anymore, he had been broken down and come out the other side as someone else. Someone who needed this and was not afraid to ask for it; someone who needed Leonardo to say yes.

“Yes,” he said, “Ti amo Ezio, always,” and he leaned back in and kissed the slightly stunned smile from his lips, hands gently holding him as his body suddenly trembled too hard and his legs almost gave up. They kissed until his legs were weak for a different reason, clinging to each other desperately and eventually Ezio found himself being pulled towards the bed. They moved clumsily, hands now free they together tore at Leonard’s shirt pulling it off and throwing it away.

Ezio pressed his chest against the other man, and feeling his skin so close made his heart feel like it was swelling, growing too big for his chest to contain. Leonardo pressed a leg in between his, trying to move closer. Ezio let his head fall down on the man’s shoulder, lips trailing the long curve of his neck, biting at the ear lobe before licking down again. Leonardo leaned his head back to allow him full access and let his hands drop to Ezio’s hips, holding on hard and slowly rotating against him.

Ezio put a foot behind his legs and tripped them both so they fell back on the bed together, Leonardo laughed and Ezio just stopped to look at him, holding himself up on his forearms.

“So beautiful, how can you be so beautiful?” he ran a hand through the light curls floating out on the bed and further across his chest, he stopped and pinched at a nipple, feeling it grow hard under his finger as Leonardo bucked under him trying to gain more friction.

He bent down and licked at the other nipple as he lifted his hips teasingly. Leonardo tried to pull him back down, hips lifting ever higher trying to find his. He held back and lightly bit the hard flesh earning him a sharp gasp of pleasure. He turned back to Leonardo’s mouth and let himself drop down, his entire weight pressing down.

Leonardo sighed in relief as their bodies met in full and in moments they had wriggled out of the last clothes, pale flesh melding onto olive without any visible seams. Leonardo spun them around and spread Ezio’s legs out settling in between his hips. His dick, long and hard, was gliding against Ezio’s and he allowed his head to drop back, mind blown by too much sensation all at once. He was coming close already and he pulled Leonardo’s head down and stilled him by trapping his hips with his legs.

“I want you inside me, want to feel you,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Leonardo said, his voice deep and rough, and Ezio could see how much he wanted it, see his hands shake and eyes fog over and right then he had never wanted anything more. He nodded with emphasis not trusting his own voice. Leonardo leaned down and kissed him, it was gentle and sweet and Ezio closed his eyes and leaned into it. Slowly Leonardo pulled him up and into his lap; Ezio draped his legs around him, crossing them behind the man’s back.

They rocked against each other, bodies grinding together as Leonardo clumsily reached for a flask of oil on the table left over from their meal. He dipped his middle three fingers deep and lifted them dripping over the bed and slid them down Ezio’s back until they were resting ever so gently on the tight ring of muscle. Ezio moved impatiently and Leonardo smiled against his skin and obliged by pushing a single finger inside, Ezio stilled as the oil slowly heated up and his body adjusted to the intrusion.

Leonardo added a second finger and softly moved them in an undulating movement. Ezio kept perfectly still, letting the other man decide on the pace. Eventually, he added a third finger pushing deep inside Ezio who could not stop a moan. Between clenched teeth gritted out “I’m ready, now, please.”

Leonardo pushed a few more time, long fingers reaching deep inside forcing him open, before pulling out. He placed his hands on Ezio’s hips and lifted him gently up. Ezio reached down and grabbed hold of Leonardo, he was hard and burning hot, a single drop of precum glistening on the head. He aimed him and slowly sank down so that the head was nudging at his ass. He let out a breath and slid a bit lower, head pushing slowly inside opening him up. Leonardo groaned loudly, biting Ezio’s arm in an effort to keep still and not thrust into him all at once.

Ezio slowly pushed down allowing himself to adjust around Leonardo. When he was finally sitting down in his lap again they were both covered in sweat.

“Oh god please move,” Leonardo said, voice thick with desire. Ezio obeyed and began to lift and drop down at an irregular pace.

He leaned down to kiss Leonardo, lips trailing aimlessly and placing tender kisses everywhere. He moved slowly, one arm on the bed, drawing out the pleasure for as long as he could. Leonardo held on loosely to his hips, allowing him to keep his pace while he moaned into his mouth. Ezio lifted higher and dropped down, feeling Leonardo shift and push inside him, the heat of it almost burning him up. Then the man was biting his lower lip and his fingers were digging deep into the flesh at his hips and Ezio started to move faster, legs and arm pushing back down, allowing  him to rise up high and drop down hard. Leonardo pushed up once to meet him and Ezio could feel the moan reverberate in his chest as he came, filling Ezio from inside with burning heat.

They rocked together slowly as Leonardo languidly pushed inside him a few more time, riding out the aftermath of the orgasm. He stroked his legs up and down and hummed against his chest and Ezio hugged him tight.

Leonardo reached down between them, long fingers gripping around Ezio’s length. Ezio gently trailed a finger over his face drinking in his flushed feature and half lidded eyes. He leaned against Leonardo, fitting their mouths together and kissing him gently as the artist stroked him slowly and lovingly.

Sweat was running down Ezio’s chests, clinging to the dark hair on his body and mixing with Leonardo’s where their bodies met. The man was looking at him, eyes still cloaked and a lazy smile on his lips. Ezio could feel the burning start in his stomach, and he grabbed on to the other man with all he had repeating over and over, “Love you,” as he came in long hard pulses.


	6. Recovered memory fragments

Recovered memory fragment 1 of 2

_Anno 1497, outskirts of Firenze_

Ezio jumped the low stone wall, not bothering to divert to the opening, and continued on the other side; he was walking with fast determined steps. He had already passed through the gates of Firenze without trouble, the guards none the wiser. It was going almost too well so far, surely this could not last? As he thought so, he heard a shout cry out behind him, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder and saw a group of armed men pointing at him and talking excitedly among each other. For some reason he found himself smiling as he turned back and allowed himself to gain in speed; legs stretching out before him.

He looked back again as he reached the dirt road, the men had just sat up on horses and were setting out, clearly in his direction. He broke into a run and wished he had risked stopping to obtain a horse. Behind him he could already hear the thunder of approaching cavalry and in his mind he saw drawn swords and aimed crossbows. He ignored the sudden itch between his shoulder blades and instead increased his speed, running in a slightly haphazard sick-sack pattern. He passed round a bend in the road and the pursuers were so close now that he could imagine feeling the warm breath of horses on the back of his neck; he needed a way out and fast.

He doubled his effort and leaped down the hill, eyes scanning the deserted landscape for his cue; and there it was. A carriage, sleek and low, built for speed with two fast horses emerged from behind a barn and came at him from the side. The wood screeched at the rough treatment as it turned at an angle so steep it almost turned over. He saw a man on horse coming up side by side to him on his left, sword raised and he jumped for the carriage, hands grabbing hold of the wooden railing. He was immediately pulled off his feet as the speed of the vehicle was far greater than he could run and for a moment he feared he would be crushed under the metal clad wheels. Then a hand reached out for him, he grabbed it and used it to haul himself up and away.

He rolled over on his back as the cloaked driver leaned back over his reins, urging the beasts on faster. He grabbed a crossbow, lying loaded and ready for him, and raised it towards the pursuers. The bow shivered as he pressed the trigger and the bolt flew faster than a crow, hitting the closest man straight through the left eye. His body went rigid and then soundlessly tumbled down to the ground and disappeared under the hooves of approaching horses.

He threw down the bow beside him and reached for his sleeve and rapidly aimed and threw three knifes, crippling the mounts of the rest of the pursuers. The horses screamed and the men cursed as they worked to control them and the distance increased rapidly and soon the men were but silhouettes far behind.

Ezio allowed his smile to change into a laugh, it rumbled through him, deep and victorious as he splayed his arms out and turned his head to the pale spring sun. He closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to revel in the moment.

“Scuse Ezio, surely you are not standing there all day?” the driver shouted over his back to be heard over the steady beat of the running horses and wheels passing smoothly over the packed dirt of the road. Ezio turned around and laughingly seated himself beside the driver pulling his hood off as he threw his arm over the man’s shoulders.

“Who knew Leonardo what a fine driver you would turn out to be,” he said, still unable to stop grinning.

Leonardo ignored the teasing tone and instead asked, “Did you get it? Please say you have it?”

Ezio stilled and pushed a hand inside his coat and brought out a golden orb, “Yes Leonardo, I have it.”

Leonardo glanced at the Apple quickly before turning back to eye the road, he slowed the horses slightly and loosened the reins. He laughed as well and leaned back as Ezio hid the apple again, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

They drove in silence for a while; each man content to simply live the moment and allow realization to sink in, years of work was finally paying off. They had struck a blow so hard to the Templars it would be years before their ears stopped ringing. The horses trotted on and Firenze was soon lost behind them, the road reaching wide and smooth before them all the way to the horizon.

“What will you do with it?” Leonardo said finally, breaking the silence.

“Hide it where no one can ever find it,” Ezio replied with a faraway look in his eyes.

Leonardo nodded, better not even he knew where. That was a burden he was glad not to bear.

They hid the wagon in a small hamlet, horses already saddled and waiting for them. The woman making the change avoided looking at them as she led the spent horses away, she had already been paid. They sat up and continued on their way. They rode until it was dark enough that they couldn’t see the road in front of them anymore.

Ezio put blocks around the horses legs to keep them from straying while Leonardo put a blanket out on the ground. They could not risk a fire yet he felt safe. No one would find them here, the glade was small and well hidden; a place he had stayed at many times before while making the journey back to the Villa.

“Here, bread,” he took the lump Leonardo gave him and sank down on the ground, glad to be resting.

He stretched his legs out and looked at Leonardo lying on his back, eyes on the starry night sky.

“You’re not eating?”

Leonardo turned to face him, “Cold bread and sleeping on the ground? I think I wait until we get home,” there was a smile in his voice and Ezio knew he was not really displeased. He grinned at himself, after all these years his heart still jumped a little whenever he was reminded that his home was also Leonardo’s home.

The years before this had been good years, hard as ever, yet good. Having the artist by his side had changed him in ways he had not known he could change. He was calmer, that burning itch just below the surface of his skin had subsided and whenever he grew too restless Leonardo was there with tolerant reasoning to calm him down. Without him he would never have gained the endurance needed to regain the Apple.

He was a better man he thought then, his life a better one to live. He was sure that was why his sister had taken to Leonardo like a second brother and he to her like a sister, and a certain peace had settled over the house that he thought even his mother must feel. He swallowed the last piece of bread and wiped his hands on his coat. This was also different he thought, in the past he had never had the patience for thoughts like this.

He smiled wickedly and kicked his boots off before lying down, “If the ground is too hard for you my old friend you can always lie on me.”

Leonardo chuckled beside him, deep in his throat and it sent shivers through Ezio’s body, he marveled that the man could still make him feel like this, without even touching him. After that all thought was lost as Leonardo climbed on top of him, knee spreading his legs apart and settling in between. His head bent down and traced a wet line up his neck before his lips closed over Ezio’s, kissing him roughly. Ezio closed his arms around his back, hugging him tightly to his chest, hips grinding up as their tongues fought.

Soon they where panting at each other, hands pushing in under layers of clothing. They rolled to the side, facing each other and Ezio inhaled sharply as Leonardo’s hand closed around him. The long fingers, smooth and strong, stroke him up and down, thumb sliding over the head at each turn. He bit into the cloth of Leonardo’s shoulder trying to keep silent as his own hand worked over the long, silky shaft of Leonardo’s dick.

Leonardo was breathing heavily in his ear, his other arm under Ezio and holding him tight as they rocked together.

“Oh mio dio Ezio,” Leonardo said voice shivering, “I am never letting you go, you know that don’t you amato.”

Ezio came then, hot and hard in Leonardo’s hand and the man himself followed shortly after.

ooo

Recovered memory fragment 2 of 2

_Anno 1499, Villa Auditore, Monteriggioni_

The little brown tit was sitting perfectly still as if posing for Leonardo. The tiny beak was glistening from water it had just drunk and the feathers shone in the sun. Leonardo drew fast, his fingers flying deftly over the paper on his knee without even looking at his hands. The outline of the bird was already visible beside a dozen more on the pale canvas.

He was sitting on a stone bench in the small yard behind the Villa. His preferred place for drawing and lately he had found the spot perfect for watching birds. Flight had always held a special place in his heart; there was something so stunningly beautiful in watching something fly and birds especially. They defied what seemed to be the very laws of nature as they soared high in the sky, so free from the toils of life.

A shadow fell over him and the bird took off, small wings flapping frantically for a moment before it gained altitude and disappeared over the city walls. He followed it with his eyes admiring the surety in its movements.

“Birds again Leonardo?”

He smiled; he had heard the horse a while ago and had been waiting.

“Can you not see how they move, so graceful and sure through the air. I wish I could fly like a bird Ezio.”

“I still wake up from nightmare from when I tried it friend, I prefer to stay with my feet on the earth,” Ezio came around and sat on the ground in front of Leonardo, his head leaning back on the bench, almost but not quite resting on his leg.

Leonardo put a hand in his hair and watched Ezio’s face, his eyes were closed and he hummed appreciatively as Leonardo treaded his fingers through his hair. It was still dark with no signs of gray, unlike his own which had started to turn years ago. He was still surprised each time he looked into a mirror and saw the white in among the blond, yet he liked it, in moments of vanity he thought it made him look wise.

Ezio looked dusty from the road. He had not been gone long this time and Leonardo had not expected him back yet, but he was glad as always to see him. He had thought it would pass with the years, the worry and fear; it had not. Yet he had learned to live with it, to have faith in things, that the world would move the way it did and that it was not yet Ezio’s turn to leave.  He supposed he had grown into a more patient man with age.

Ezio opened his eyes and looked at him and suddenly Leonardo saw what he had missed earlier, a line of worry creasing his forehead and a harried look in his eyes. He withdrew his hand and suddenly expected bad news.

“What is the matter?”

Ezio grimaced, “Am I so obvious?”

Leonardo only snorted in reply. Ezio sighed and rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders. Leonardo didn’t say anything, he simply waited; he had learnt that it was best to give the man time to collect his thoughts in moment like this. However, it only sharpened his sense that something was indeed wrong. His stomach churned as his mind whirled through all the possibilities, of people dead or wounded, cities burned or looted, and in the end he almost cried out for need to know. Yet nothing prepared him for when Ezio finally spoke,

“I have found him.”

Leonardo could see his tense back and hear the pain in his voice and there was no doubt as to whom Ezio was referring; the Spaniard, the man who had ordered the deaths of Ezio’s family all those years ago. His mind spun suddenly and his mouth went dry. He had dreaded this day for so long, yet when the days and years had passed he had started to allow himself to hope that it would never come. Now he was afraid, afraid he would lose the man he loved to the easy lure of revenge.

They were quiet for a long while as Leonardo let the news sink in. The day was still young yet the sun did not appear warm anymore and Leonardo found himself shivering slightly.

“What will you do?” he asked eventually.

Ezio turned to face him then and Leonardo almost shied back at the hard determination he found there.

“I will go to him,” he said and his voice was sharp as steel and Leonardo had to look away.

“The others say I have to kill him, make sure the Templars’ plans dies with him.”

Leonardo nodded, it made sense, he knew that, yet he did not have to like it. He believed in his heart that vengeance was not the end of anything, that it gave no rest or satisfaction. He feared what Ezio would become after he had his revenge and realised that in the end it mattered naught.

“So you agree?” Ezio asked and Leonardo was not sure but it could have been uncertainty in his voice. He took a deep breath before answering.

“You must do what you must do.”

Ezio met his eyes and just looked at him for the longest moment, Leonardo steadied himself and forced himself not to look away.

“I have decided that I will not,” Ezio said at last and broke eye contact with Leonardo, eyes instead roaming the Villa behind him.

“What?” he said.

“I will not kill him,” Ezio answered, voice calm and filled with uttermost surety.

Leonardo stayed quiet and licked his lips, he was not really sure he understood.

“You cannot tell my uncle if he asks you, they all expect me to do it,” and he looked back at Leonardo.

“But why Ezio? Have you not been searching for this man you entire life, now you have him and you tell me you will not kill him?”

“I will not kill him,” Ezio repeated again. As serious as Leonardo had ever seen him.

Leonardo looked at him and saw the truth of it in him and nodded.

“You must know I agree with you, yet I cannot fathom why?” he could not understand, this was the thing which had driven Ezio, had been part of him always.

At that Ezio smiled, with all his face and Leonardo was transported back in time. His hair became blond again and mind younger and he was standing on the doorstep to his old workshop in Firenze. He had just opened the door and Maria Auditore de Fireze was standing outside, she greeted him.

Her posture was strong and proud but he did not see her, he could only see the young dark eyed man standing impatiently behind her. He looked like he was dancing, feet moving restlessly to a tune only he could hear as if being still but for a moment would make him miss out on life. Leonardo dimly heard his patron introduce her middle son to him, “This is Ezio,” the man turned to fully face him, a smile on his face which swept over Leonardo, slipped in beneath his very skin and straight into his heart. He must have said something because Maria had nodded and the young man had grinned even wider and blinked at Leonardo as if they shared some secret joke only the two of them were privy to.

From that day on he had known that he was lost, they had walked to Maria’s home with her son trailing behind, carrying the paintings she had ordered. He had made small talk to her yet he had no idea what he had been saying, his entire being swallowed up by the man behind him, and he had known that he would search for that smile in all of his days to come, whatever the cost.

Leonardo returned to the present and saw that very same smile, a smile he had thought died as Ezio’s father and brothers did, yet here it was as bright as then and he found himself falling in love all over again.

He must have looked stunned because Ezio laughed at him.

“It seems I can still surprise you,” he said.

Leonardo shook his head trying to clear it, his mind still dazzled, “Enlighten me Ezio, please.”

The smile left Ezio, yet the memory of it was still there, promising to return.

“You told me once that revenge would not bring my family back,” he paused, “You were right, it simply took me a while to see what you meant.”

Leonardo stared up at Ezio who bent down and kneeled in front of him, he placed his hands on his knees and Leonardo could feel the calluses from handling a sword through the fabric of his trousers.

 ‘’It might make you feel better,” he ventured, not really wanting to say it, yet he felt like he had to.

“It might,” Ezio agreed, “but I will not even so.”

“Because you know better now?” Leonardo asked tentatively, still not fully understanding.

Ezio’s hands gripped tightly around his tights, thumbs rubbing back and forth, he leaned forward and looked into Leonardo’s eyes and replied seriously,

“No. It is for you. It has always been for you.”

He did understand it then.

_Il fine_

**Author's Note:**

> The dates, characters and major events are all taken straight from the game, except the very first assassination. Of course, even though I have tried to keep it close to the canon there are some discrepancies, not the least in the relationships=).  
> A final note, for all of you who played it till the end, you know that Leonardo does indeed move in with Ezio around 1490, although you are never told why or how it happens. He is also still living there in 1499 when Ezio finally goes after the Spaniard, whom he does not kill.


End file.
